


The Roadside Motel

by ratiocination



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Allison Argent & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Alternate Universe - Sentinels & Guides, Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides Are Known, BAMF Laura Hale, Come Marking, Detective Derek Hale, Detective Stiles, Empathy, Guide Derek, Human Derek Hale, Laura Hale Feels, M/M, Murder Mystery, Scent Marking, Scenting, Sentinel stiles, Sentinel/Guide, Sentinel/Guide Bonding, Soul Bond, Touch-Starved, Touching, kind of, stiles grows on derek like a fungus, stiles imprinted on derek like a duckling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-02-16 23:17:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 21,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13064244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratiocination/pseuds/ratiocination
Summary: The day Stiles' mother dies, Stiles and Laura get taken away by the Center as a newly presented Sentinel and Guide.Fast forward a decade: Derek gets put on a case along with a team from the FBI's BAU--one that includes a Sentinel Stiles Stilinkski and his Guide, Alison Argent. There's a serial killer on the loose, a serial killer who goes after rogue Guides.And Derek just happens to be a rogue Guide.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I write slow. I'm sorry.

Derek spent most of the summer between his Senior year of high school and first year of college in the woods. He didn't usually spend all of his free time in the forest. But Laura was babysitting this kid, this hyperactive, annoying ball of energy as a favor to one of the deputies, courtesy of Talia Hale who at some point apparently decided that it was perfectly acceptable to conscript her children into providing free labor just because they weren't doing anything she deemed important.

In reality, Laura provided only minimal actual supervision, resulting in some unfortunate encounters wherein Stiles asked Derek some very personal questions before Derek took to escaping into the woods. Derek didn't know why exactly the kid was foisted off on them so suddenly, but the scrunched up, sad look on Laura's face every time he asked (read: complained) about the kid told him enough that he knew he didn't want to know.

A few weeks after Laura had started babysitting him, Stiles appeared in the little glade where Derek had laid out a blanket and was taking a nap. If Derek wasn't already laying down, he would have fallen over because, first of all, where the hell was Laura? Second of all, how the hell did Stiles even find him? He didn't say anything though, because Stiles looked absolutely miserable.

Instead, he found himself patting the blanket next to him and watching with a surreal sense of satisfaction as Stiles sat, folding in on himself with his knees tucked beneath his chin, so close to Derek that he could feel Stiles' shoulder brush his with each of Stiles' heaving breaths. Derek was so accustomed to not talking that it was easy to keep silent as Stiles struggled to psych himself up for what he wanted to say.

"I yelled at Laura," Stiles said quietly after a few seconds. "Jackson called me a pathetic, whiny baby." Used to the lack of trackable logic from previous conversations with Stiles, Derek just reached a hand around Stiles' back to rest on his shoulder, gently encouraging him to go on. "My mom is sick."

Panic constricted sharply in Derek's chest and he thought,  _I'm not cut out for this_. He might have had some measure of empathy according to the tests the school gave Derek when he was sixteen, but he was no Guide. Guides could handle other people and had the ability to help them at times like this; Derek found other people overwhelming and situations like this terrifying. Still, he pulled Stiles more tightly to his side with the arm curled across Stiles' shoulders.

"I'll call Laura, let her know you're here," he said. Laura was the one who was good with people. She would know what to do. Stiles dropped his chin to his chest in assent, but when Derek got out his phone, Stiles grabbed Derek's hand.

"I'll talk to her," Stiles said, more subdued than Derek had ever seen him, "I need to apologize." He didn't let go of Derek's hand even as Derek dialed Laura's number.

" _Derek!_ " Laura sounded like she'd just been crying.

"Lo, he's ok," Derek said, trying to sound as calm as possible. "He wants to talk to you."

" _Thank fuck. Put him on._ "

The hand that took the phone from Derek was shaking, so Derek squeezed the hand that was still in his in reassurance.

"Sorry, Laura," Stiles said immediately. "No, I'm— I'm okay. I just can't deal with…" In an effort not to eavesdrop, Derek started reading the book he'd brought out with him, only stopping when Stiles offered the phone back to him. "She says she wants to talk to you."

" _Hey,_ " Laura said, " _are you okay? I know you don't… well._ "

"Yeah, I'm good," Derek said. "What happened?"

" _I don't want to talk about it._ " Laura sighed softly. " _Just, I think he'll be more comfortable around you right now. Is that okay?_ "

Derek shrugged before he realized she couldn't see him. "He's not bothering me or anything."

" _You can send him back if you want._ "

As if he'd heard, Stiles' grip on Derek's hand loosened as if he was going to pull away, but Derek squeezed his hand a little and Stiles subsided. "No, it's fine. We'll see you when he calms down," Derek responded.

Stiles shoulders sagged a little in relief.

"Do you want to talk?" Derek asked him after hanging up on Laura.

"No."

"Okay."

—

It became a Thing.

Somehow, even if Derek had moved spots, Stiles would find him and just show up without warning. After the fourth or fifth time, Derek stopped calling Laura when Stiles showed up, though he did make sure to text her. If he didn't, he knew Laura would worry herself out of her mind. This, he figured, was probably why his dad didn't just hire a babysitter in town. The Hales had put their house in the middle of the forest for privacy and because they had a big family, with lots of children who were often too sensitive to live in the city, with its reams of people and overwhelming sights, sounds, smells, and pollution. But the forest seemed to have a calming effect on Stiles too, probably because it allowed him to bleed off all his energy without resulting in any property damage.

They didn't really talk. In the beginning, Stiles didn't show up often, but when he did he was withdrawn, quiet. Completely at odds with what Derek expected from him. He would just curl up next to Derek, and, eventually, sometimes almost  _on_  Derek with his face pressed against Derek's shoulder while Derek read. Cora and his younger cousins sometimes did that, so Derek was used to it, and it didn't feel uncomfortable at all.

Mostly they read. Derek was taking AP English come fall, so he was making his way through the reading list for the summer journals he had to write and, when he finished those, started reading the books they were going to cover during the year so it didn't get in the way of basketball. He brought extra books for Stiles, too, mostly sci-fi or fantasy, but sometimes biographies or histories or really anything that happened to be laying around when Derek left the house. Stiles didn't seem to mind. Likewise, Derek found he didn't mind Stiles' presence, much to his surprise.

But toward the middle of summer Derek finally asked, "Why do you keep coming over here?"

Stiles, who had been lying on his stomach reading a battered copy of  _Ender's Game_ , sat up to look Derek in the eye. "I'm sor—"

Derek cut him off. "No, I mean, isn't it easier with Laura?" He fumbled for more words, to clarify, but settled with: "Most people like her better." In high school she had been wildly popular, or at least that's what Derek understood from the days he had to carpool with her, in freshman year.

"I like Laura," Stiles said, chewing on the inside of his cheek, "but there's something about you that makes me feel… It's like there's a constant itch under my skin all the time, and I can never sit still because there's just so much of everything, but with you it seems to go away?" He shrugged. "It's easier here. I don't feel the pressure of having to get you to like me."

"Gee, thanks," Derek said, but he couldn't quite bite back a grin and Stiles grinned back at him.

Then the grin dropped off his face. "If I had it my way, I wouldn't be here at all. I'd be at the hospital with my mom."

"Oh." Derek watched as Stiles' face scrunched up and he flopped back down onto the blanket, facedown.

"Yeah. Oh."

—

"Why can't Stiles see his mother?" Derek asked Laura that day after Stiles' dad had picked him up.

The house was empty except for them, the gaggle of younger cousins and siblings that usually swarmed around this time having gone to summer camp. Their parents were still at work.

Laura dropped the ceramic cup she had been washing. "Shit!" She was still breathing hard as they cleaned it up. She was angry, Derek realized. "You never seemed that interested, before," she said, voice tight.

In fact, Derek had run away almost every time he heard the doorbell ring earlier that summer. But there was something different about the Stiles he met with in the forest. Stiles was getting attached, Derek realized uncomfortably, and so was he. And Laura was keeping things from him.

He squinted at her. "That's what you fought about, isn't it? That first time." Maybe every time. Stiles had been hanging around Derek more frequently, almost every time he was over at their house, practically.

"Yeah," she admitted, throwing the last piece of the broken cup into the trash. "His mom—" Laura bit her lip.

"She's not just sick, is she?" It made sense. Stiles was twelve, old enough to stay home alone if his dad had the neighbors check in on him. And why else would he suddenly need a babysitter if he apparently hadn't before? At Laura's pinched look he realized it was worse. "So you're telling me that nobody's letting this kid see his mom when she's  _dying_?"

"It was his dad's decision. We can't do anything," Laura said. But the words were insubstantial, either because she wasn't sure or because she knew how weak it sounded. "His dad takes him on the weekends."

"You mean all he has are  _weekends_? Any time he sees her could be the last!"

Laura's lips folded in.

"God, Lo." Grabbing her shoulders, Derek pulled her in for a hug instead of shaking her like he had wanted to when he found out. It must have been killing her, for her to have not told him and for her to not let Stiles see his mother. She buried her face in his shoulder, almost but not quite crying.

"I'll take him tomorrow," she said into his shirt.

—

Derek heard Stiles before he saw him. Ordinarily, Stiles was conscious of the fact that if he was too annoying (i.e., loud), Derek might send him back to the house, so he was usually cautious and courteous. This time, though, he crashed through the underbrush and broke through the line of trees that stopped a few yards from the edge of the lake at a run before half-throwing himself at Derek, who was frozen in shock. Especially when Laura came crashing after him.

Stiles clung to Derek with his entire body, arms and legs wrapped around Derek like an over-sized koala. He also had his teeth bared at Laura.

"What—"

"Derek, listen to me, you have to let him go," Laura wheezed. "Now!"

"I'm not— he's—" Feeling like he'd been dropped into another universe, Derek grabbed Stiles' arms, fully intending to pull them off, but instead he felt an overwhelming urge to bring Stiles closer even though it was physically impossible. Laura lunged for them and Derek pushed backward, still clutching at Stiles' arms. But Laura had managed to catch Stiles across the middle, and she hauled him backward with a surprising amount of strength and the leverage of Derek's unbalanced position. "Laura, what the hell!"

She grappled with Stiles, pinning him facedown on the ground as he thrashed. "Call mom," she snarled at Derek. She looked wild, her face red, as though she and Stiles had run all the way to the lake from the hospital.

He wanted to push her off of Stiles. He wanted to curl up in a pile of blankets with Stiles and never get up again, just shut out the rest of the world. He wanted to know what the hell had happened. Instead he called his mom, punching out her number with trembling fingers.

It went to voicemail. "She's not picking up!"

"Fuck!"

In that brief millisecond of distraction, Stiles turned the tables and broke Laura's hold, only to throw himself at Derek once again. With a groan, Laura picked herself up off the ground. Derek found himself curling protectively around Stiles.

They were at an impasse. Stiles refused to let go of Derek. Derek wasn't sure what to do, but even though Laura seemed desperate to get Stiles away from him, Derek didn't want to let go either. And Laura seemed to be struggling, unable to find the words to tell Derek exactly what was going on and fighting the desire to tear them away from each other.

"Mom," Stiles against his neck. If his face hadn't been beside Derek's ear, Derek probably wouldn't have heard. "Hurts," he said a little louder.

Shaking, Laura sank back down. "You're back," she said. She approached cautiously, still on her hands and knees. When she reached for Stiles, he shied away from her.

"No!" Stiles' already throttling grip on Derek's ribs tightened.

"Dial it back, Stiles." When she put her hand on Stiles' back he flailed wildly in Derek's lap, and almost as soon as she touched Stiles, Derek was already moving backward again until he could feel the grit of the sandy lakeshore ground under his palms. As she reached out to grab Derek, Stiles swiped at her with his nails. Laura stared at the two of them and said, "Crap." Finally, she backed off hands, held up with the palms out to show she wasn't going to try anything else.

"What happened?" Derek asked, once Stiles stopped moving. He had settled so he was mostly on top of Derek, forehead braced just under Derek's chin.

"Claudia died," Laura answered bluntly.

The tension that had eased once Laura stopped trying to touch them rushed back into the base of Derek's spine. "And Stiles— was he there?"

Laura nodded. "He was holding her hand." With an aggrieved sigh, Laura sank her fingers into her hair, gripping it tightly. "He came online, went feral. The entire hospital saw me drag him off."

"Stiles is a Sentinel?" Derek asked, resting his hand on the back of Stiles' head. Stiles burrowed further into his collar. Sentinels usually only came online after puberty.

She nodded, rearranging her legs so she was sitting with them crossed. "The hospital is full of mandatory reporters, Derek. The Center is going to come to take him away." She looked like she was going to say more, but her mouth twisted. "Give me your phone; I have to call the Sheriff. I don't know how long we have left."

—

When they got back to the house—Laura carrying Stiles, because he had finally gone limp with exhaustion, and Derek caught his complaints against the back of his teeth when she took him—the Center representatives were already there.

Both were wearing white Hazmat suits, with stun guns on their belts. The panels of transparent material that obscured their faces was tinted, so he could only make out a vague silhouette of their faces. The Center crest was printed as a patch on the otherwise featureless material of the suits.

"His legal guardian isn't here yet," Laura said, "you can't take him." She didn't bother asking how they knew to come to the Hale house.

"According to the law," the taller of them said, "all unbonded, feral Sentinels are to be relinquished into the custody of the Center. After injuring a citizen, they have no legal rights."

"I was the only party injured!"

Stiles stirred. He moaned and threw an arm over his face.

"He's a danger to himself and everyone around him," the agent continued. "As such—"

"Hold on." Though it was distorted by the suit, this agent's voice had a different pitch—higher. The person inside was also shorter, barely taller than Derek's shoulder, probably a woman. "He's just asleep? Not catatonic?" She drew a tool from the belt attached to the suit and Laura half-turned, shoving her shoulder forward to prevent the woman from doing anything to Stiles. "Who drew him out of the frenzy?"

Just as the Center agents began to turn to look at Derek, Laura shifted from side to side and blurted, "Me. I was the one who got him out of the frenzy."

Laura was lying. For just a split second, he wondered why— until she shot him a look. It was him. He was the one who had done it. He was the one they wanted.

"Call mom," Laura ordered him.

She never gave his phone back, so he had to go into the house for the landline. He left her. He left her there, standing on the porch with Stiles in her arms as the Center agents drew closer menacingly. The last he saw of her was a single, terrified glance before the door closed behind him while one of the agents said, "As a newly presented Guide you must surrender—"


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know anything about law enforcement.

As a general rule, Derek didn't use his empathy in the station. At least not consciously. There were too many risks involved, the biggest of which was getting caught, and the least of which was monumentally fucking something up because he was untrained. And then getting caught. He did have a lot of luck in the interrogation room, but he certainly wasn't the best there and his rate of success was well within what could be explained by normal, non-extroverted empathy and good intuition. But sometimes it felt like his empathy was completely separate from him, unignorable, uncontrollable, a giant splinter lodged between the base of his skull and his neck, and the only thing that could ease the ache was submitting to it.

He was cautious. He used scent neutralizer and sprayed on awful cologne until he isn't sure he'd recognize his own scent. He dialed down his power or whammied everyone until anyone who met him would think he was the least empathetic person ever, would never suspect him of being a Guide. All to avoid the Center. After Laura was taken, she'd never been allowed to contact the family again. Neither had Stiles.

He ached with the memory of them. But even as an officer of the law, he wasn't exempt from the laws concerning Guides. On the other hand, he could minimize his involvement with them, so instead of accepting a role at Major Crimes after being made detective, he stayed on the Special Victims Unit and suffered his empathic connection to all of the victims, using it to soothe them. When he wasn't at the station. As for Sentinels, well, they were rare, almost as rare as Guides. So he was off scott free, for the moment, at least.

He'd met a rogue Guide, years ago. She helped him cover his power up, teaching him the basics of empathic control. Enough to make it seem like he had no powers to speak of, or at least repel any suspicion that he was a Guide.

"But," she'd said, "it won't hold up to scrutiny, so you'd best be on your guard. Don't ever let them test you. And don't hang around Sentinels who know what they're doing. The young ones might not know, but the older and more trained they are, the more dangerous they are to you."

So, he avoided Sentinels.

Which was easy enough to say, but another thing altogether when his Captain told him he was being sent on a joint task force to Beacon Hills. Which was a Center city.

"They're asking all law enforcement originally from Beacon Hills be sent back," she said.

"But why?"

"It's not your place to question why," she said, curious about his outburst. She'd never seen him so distressed. Derek reined it in.

Derek went cold. They couldn't have figured out he was a Guide, could they have?

"You didn't even ask what the case was about."

"What's the case about?" He asked automatically, registering a command when he heard one no matter how lightly it was put.

She handed him a file folder, which he accepted with numb fingers. He flipped through the descriptions—by the medical examiner.

"This is a serial killer case. Not my purview," he said.

"The victims were Guides," she said. "Rogue Guides. We need someone with a delicate touch to deal with their loved ones. Find out how they hid their powers."

"And you chose me?" he snorted to cover up that his entire body had gone cold with fear,

"I am aware of your performance reviews," she said. "I also happen to know that you know the Sentinel the Center sent."

He didn't know any Sentinels. Derek rubbed the back of his head. "I could see how that would be a conflict of interest. But not how that would qualify me to help with this case. Why do you want me on the case?" he asked bluntly.

"The Center asked for you specifically."

Derek gnashed his teeth. "What if I said I didn't want to?"

"It came from up on high."

"How high?"

"The Director of the Center."

Derek stopped breathing. He hadn't done anything to deserve the scrutiny of the Center had he? He didn't think so. "So, I can't get taken off the case," he said distantly, feeling as though he had pulled away from his body and was simply manipulating it like he did other people's perceptions of him.

"No."

He turned to leave, still feeling as though he were floating above himself. 

"I didn't dismiss you, Officer Hale," the Captain said.

Derek's spine stiffened. "I apologize. Did you still need me?"

"No, just wanted to remind you who was in charge here." She wasn't offended, as far as Derek could sense. No, she was… concerned. "Pack your bags for Beacon Hills. They want you there by nightfall."

"I didn't realize it was so urgent."

"They wouldn't have asked if it wasn't," she said. "Take this with you," she said, tapping on the file folder on her desk. He took it with numb fingers and tucked it carefully under his armpit.

"Anything else?" he asked.

"No. You're dismissed," the Captain said.

Derek turned and left.

The only Sentinel he knew was Stiles, and Stiles was locked away with Laura in some Center compound somewhere. As Derek would be, if anyone found out he was a Guide.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles bounced on the balls of his feet waiting for Allison. "Come on, we have to be at the station by the time everyone gets here." He couldn't wait to get out of the Center walls, to breathe air that wasn't filtered and conditioned into oblivion. It wasn't the first time he'd be outside of the Center walls since he entered them, but it was close. The first time he'd be out without supervision, aside from Allison who didn't really count anyway.

"And we will be," Allison said, tying her hair up into a ponytail. "Do you have everything? Calm down."

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, ma."

"I'm serious, Stiles. The last thing we want is you zoning on your first case."

"That's not going to happen," he promised. He took a deep breath. And then another. Alison was sweating slightly more than usual, as though she were nervous. "Are you nervous? Why are you nervous?" He asked.

"Don't do that," Allison said. "What did I say about honing in on me?"

"Not to do it if I just wanted to see how you were feeling. And I didn't." Stiles winced. "But why are you nervous?"

"This is my first time Guiding someone during a serious case, of course I'm nervous," Allison said. She smoothed her shirt. "Aren't you nervous?"

"I'm about to vibrate out of my skin," Stiles said.

"Well, don't get so worked up," Allison said, putting her hand over his. He felt a wash of calm sweep over him.

"Too bad you can't do that for yourself," Stiles said. She wasn't as effective as his real Guide would be, but when they both made the effort it was better than nothing. He let himself drift into a calmer headspace, tamping down on his senses until he dialed them back to what he thought were normal levels. At the very least he couldn't smell Allison's sweat anymore, or see her pupils constricting or dilating as her gaze flitted around the room.

"Yeah, too bad," she said absently. She could get another Guide to do it for her, which she looked like she was actually considering at the moment. But there was no time for that. Maybe if they ran into one of their friends on the way out. "Let's get going," she said, and walked into the corridor with an eye behind her to make sure Stiles followed. He wasn't bouncing anymore, which was a good sign.

"Did you tell Laura you were leaving?" Allison asked obliquely.

"Mmm no."

"Why not?"

"She's not my Guide," Stiles said, "She doesn't have to know everything about me."

"Mmm…" Allison tucked a stray hair behind her ear. "I'm not your Guide either. You tell me plenty of things."

"That's different," Stiles said breezily, "you're a friend."

"And Laura isn't?"

No, Laura was in lock-up, which was why he hadn't gone to talk to her. Still. He didn't want to worry Allison, though, so he said nothing.

They'd talked about Laura before, but Stiles had only discussed her in vague terms. Which Allison found suspicious, he knew, because he talked about literally everything else in no uncertain terms. Except Derek. Derek he never even told Allison about.

They got to the Silverado without bumping into anyone, but by then Allison had calmed her nerves.

"Punch the address into the GPS for me," she said, backing out of the spot while Stiles buckled himself in. She eyed the guards nervously on the way out, but they'd already been authorized to leave so the white-clad guards simply waved her and Stiles on their way. 

"Can I put on some music?" Stiles asked. She looked at him from the corner of her eye.

"Sure," she said.

"Cool," he said, and put on music. Not Center-approved Sentinel music.

"Stiles!" She said, "we're not even a mile away from the Center, what are you doing?"

"Surely you can't protest a little music," Stiles said smiling. "Don't be such a wet blanket, Allison."

"Where did you even get this?" It was coming from his phone.

"I kind of hacked the firewall…" He shrugged. "It was easy. If they didn't want me to do it they shouldn't have taught me how to hack."

"God, Stiles!"

He laughed. "Lighten up!" He turned up the music.

"Stiles, I'm responsible for your safety so long as we're outside of the Center." She turned down the music until she could only hear it slightly. "If you're going to play this music, you better not zone," she snapped.

"I won't," Stiles said, rolling his eyes. "But I'll leave it low, just for you."

"Fine," she said.

"Fine," he said.

Allison worried, he knew, because if he zoned bad enough she wouldn't be able to bring him back.

No one had been able to explain why Laura had been able to draw him out of a frenzy, despite him not being her Sentinel. They, the two of them, had done the impossible, according to the Center, once they found out that Laura wasn't Stiles' Guide. So they continued to test Laura, especially, because she'd been the adult, the Guide. They suspected her Guide powers were more potent than the average Guide, but so far as Stiles could tell they hadn't made much headway since then.

At first the Center had been reluctant to part the two of them, except that they had never bonded. But then Stiles never bonded to any of the other Guides either. At this point they had given him up as a loss—Stiles was too much of a headcase, had ADHD, wasn't going to be useful as a  _ real  _ Sentinel with a  _ real  _ Guide—and decided to concentrate on Laura, to discover if she could pull another Sentinel out of a frenzy despite not being their Guide. She was not exactly cooperating.

Stiles was still waiting for the day he could free her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confession: I haven't seen past s2 of Teen Wolf, so I'm really just throwing characters in for a cameo.

It was nearly midnight when Derek pulled in to the drive of his parents' house feeling strange. The last time he'd been home was when Stiles and Laura got taken. The event had changed the trajectory of his entire life. Instead of going to the local college, he'd gone to Long Beach, a sanctuary city, gotten his associate's in criminology, and became an officer almost immediately after.

Despite frequent calls home, he hadn't been back since the incident.

He'd called before he arrived, but he'd gotten voicemail. So he'd left a message. His heart thudded in his throat as he got out of the car, boots crunching leaves on the dirt driveway.

His mom came out of the house first.

"Derek?" She said, cautiously, as though she didn't quite believe it.

"Yeah," he said.

She walked over and pulled him into a tight hug. "When you said you were coming back, I wasn't sure…"

"I know," Derek said, his voice catching in his throat. "I only stopped by to… it's for work," he said, unable to catch his thoughts.

"Okay," she said. She pulled back. "Okay," she said, "but you're staying in your old room."

Derek searched her face. "It's all right?" He asked, unsure if he was asking about his using the room or his returning after so long.

"Of course it's all right," Talia said. "Come inside. Bring your things."

So he went.

—

He got the call from the local law enforcement on his cell at 2 a.m.

Well used to getting up at odd hours, he rolled out of bed and was out the door before 2:30, making his way to the roadside motel that dispatch gave him the address to. 

Floodlights aimed at the parking lot let him know exactly where he was supposed to go.

And then his mind snagged on someone's presence like a fish on a hook. His heart thudded in his chest and he pulled back on his Guide powers until it pained him. Just to be sure, he took out his scent blocking spray and sprayed himself from head to toe before putting on cologne. He wasn't about to turn back around and abandon his post, but he also didn't want to get caught. He stepped out of the car.

"Derek Hale?" Asked one of the deputies.

"That's me," Derek said.

"Deputy Parrish," the deputy said.

"Nice to meet you. So, what's the status on all this?"

"You all caught up on the case?" Deputy Parrish asked.

"So far as I know, yeah. There's been a couple of murders. Victims were supposedly Guides."

"Make that three murders. And they were rogues."

Derek suppressed a feeling of being hunted that shivered up his spine. "So it's serial now."

"Only murders around this place," Deputy Parrish said. He beckoned for Derek to follow him past the yellow tape that cordoned off the parking lot. There were only a few cars: a red Fiat, a white Chevy sedan, and a Jeep Grand Cherokee. "Mostly we get traffic violations and vandalism. Kid stuff, really."

"I know," Derek said, "I used to live here."

"Oh, sorry." Deputy Parrish shrugged.

"Why would so many rogue Guides be here?" He asked.

"It's a Center town," Parrish said, "maybe they were here because of that."

"As far as I can know, rogue Guides don't exactly seek out the Center." Not if they wanted to keep their freedom.

"That's true," Parrish said. "But maybe they were coming to turn themselves in."

"Maybe." Derek had looked at the case file, and his thought was that they were too old to have just presented, since most people presented right after puberty. "But I'm no expert on Guides," he said. "In fact, I'm not sure how I'm supposed to help with this at all."

"No one briefed you?"

"No, I got in late last night and went straight to where I'm staying. I figured I'd go to the station in the morning."

"Got it." Parrish scrubbed a hand over his face, looking pale in the overbright lights. "We need locals, people who know the area, to search out any more rogue Guides."

Derek was barely able to keep his breathing regular. "Sure I was local, but that doesn't mean I know everyone in the area anymore." He frowned to cover up that his heart was racing.

"The victims were transients," Parrish said. "Not local at all. They'd stick out."

"But why can't the local LEOs handle the search?"

"We needed more bodies," Parrish said. "It just was not possible to search everywhere with only a couple deputies and the Sheriff."

"Right." Derek scrubbed at his face.

"Here we are," Parrish brought Derek around the Jeep Grand Cherokee. There, people were taking photos of the crime scene. A body lay covered in a white sheet. "Victim was female, blonde, no ID."

"How'd she die?"

"Gunshot to the base of the skull," Parrish said. "Hollowpoint. Did more damage leaving than going in. She hasn't got much of a face left."

"Execution style?"

"Don't know yet, but judging how the body fell, it's probable."

"How'd you guys find out they were Guides?" There was no way to tell from the bodies that they were Guides. Not without examining their brains, which, judging from the current victim, were probably shot out.

"Some hotshot new Center-trained Sentinel from the FBI's BAU said he thought they'd be Guides if we just looked into it. Contacted the family of one of the vics, turns out the guy'd been on the run for being a Guide for more than ten years."

"And the other?"

"Same story."

"And you think this one is related."

"Same M.O.," Parrish said. "The Center sent the Sentinel over this morning."

Derek's gut twisted. That was who he'd felt earlier. He could still feel it, that nagging feeling in the back of his head like he'd forgotten something. But he tamped down on it hard.

"And there he is," Parrish said. Derek felt his spine straighten, felt the Sentinel's presence like a physical touch. He turned slowly.

The world dropped from beneath his feet.

"Stiles?"


	5. Chapter 5

"Derek?" Stiles' jaw dropped. His heart just about stopped. The lights flared brighter and he swayed on his feet until Allison came up behind him and put a hand on his back. Then he was flooded with calm. "Derek," he repeated.

"Stiles." He heard Derek's sharp intake of breath, like Derek was about to say something but then Derek's lips folded into a frown.

It was times like these Stiles wished he was a Guide, could read emotions as easily as breathing without having to resort to searching for microexpressions and sweat characteristics. But Derek was a closed book. He took one look at Stiles and his face went completely unreadable.

"What are you doing here?" Derek asked bluntly.

Stiles hadn't exactly been expecting jubilation and a loving embrace, but the question took him aback. "I'm hurt," Stiles said. "It's been ten years, three months, two weeks, four days and two hours since we last saw each other and this is how you greet me?" He was totally bullshitting that number. It wasn't like he'd had the time to count the minutes, but… Derek had never been particularly demonstrative, but Stiles didn't remember him being so cold.

"That would mean when we last met it was midnight, Stiles." He would be one to take no shit from Stiles.

"Details."

"I'm glad you're okay," Derek said, crack finally showing in his facade. Stiles grinned up at him and it was like he hadn't been gone at all. Something unwound in the pit of Stiles' stomach, a nagging feeling that had always been there since he could remember. "We didn't… is Laura…?" He looked around, as if expecting to find Laura standing there. "Who is that?"

"Funny thing," Stiles said, "apparently Laura  _ wasn't _ my Guide like the Center thought."

"So, she's your Guide," he said, meaning Allison standing in the corner. His face still unreadable. And Stiles wasn't able to tell based on the pitch of his voice what exactly he was feeling because he hadn't been around Derek long enough to establish a baseline.

"'She' is right here," Allison said. "Allison Argent," she said, holding out her hand.

"Argent. As in the hunters?" Derek stared at her hand.

"Yes, why do you ask?"

"No reason. It's not a very common last name," Derek said. They were a hunting family originally from Beacon Hills, and Beacon Hills wasn't so big that he could be unfamiliar with them. He took her hand finally.

"Derek Hale."

Allison's eyebrows rose. "Hale," she said, her hand gripping tighter on his. He didn't let up his grip either. "I see."

"If you two are done with the posturing and the flexing of the muscles, we have some actual work to do," Stiles said, tapping their joined hands with his finger. "Beacon Hills has a problem," he said.

"What makes you say that?" Derek asked, crossing his arms.

"This," Stiles said, brandishing a local map that he'd gotten at the gas station. There were red post-it flags stuck on it.

"What's that?"

"Murder."

"And all of them were rogue Guides?" Derek asked. "That seems like a lot for such a small town," Derek said, leaning forward to look at the map. He probably couldn't get a good look at it, but he frowned. "I can see why that might be a problem."

"From the last three decades or so. Murderer was never found."

"Thirty years? Cold cases." Derek raised his eyebrows. "Very cold."

"Yes, cold cases."

"Not my jurisdiction." He leaned back. "In fact, neither is Beacon Hills and nor are killers. I deal strictly with the living."

Stiles stood up straighter. "You were summoned here for the joint task force with the FBI. They brought in anyone who knows the area."

"Ah."

Stiles gave him a shit-eating grin. "And we just happen to be on that list. Isn't it grand."

"Right," Derek said dryly. "Just grand." He stared at Stiles. "Aren't you a bit young for the FBI?" He asked. It had been ten years since he last saw Stiles, and this was what he was asking?

"Sentinels are a special case," Stiles said. "Anyway, I think we got enough of what we needed here. We need to meet the rest of the task force. They're at the station now."

—

Stiles tried not to make a habit of annoying his Guides. But in this instance, he really, direly, needed to know.

"So," he said as smoothly as he could, "you've been quiet." He turned toward Allison, who raised an eyebrow at him, though she couldn't fully look at him because she was driving.

"You didn't tell me he was a Hale," she said.

"Wait, dish. Do you have some secret antipathy toward the Hales because of reasons? Are they secretly werewolves and your family full of hunters? Tell me." He'd never told her that Laura was a Hale, come to think of it.

"There's no such thing as secret werewolves, Stiles," Allison said. "No, there's just some bad blood between our families."

"Tell me," Stiles commanded. "Tell meeeeeeee. I'm not above begging, Allison."

"I'm not telling you anything," Allison said.

"Oh my god. I told you so much about myself."

"I never asked!"

"You know practically everything about me."

"And I never wanted to know. Stiles, just drop it," Allison said with finality.

"I'll get it out of you eventually," Stiles said.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas.

Derek wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans before getting into the Camaro. Seeing Stiles again had unbalanced him like nothing else. He wanted to throw himself at Stiles and ask him what he'd been doing all these years and how Laura was and whether Stiles was okay. Instead he'd been stiff as a board. If that was what having a Sentinel around felt like, it was no wonder so many people gave up their freedom to help them.

The sensation was like turning a key fitted perfectly to a lock. Like coming home to a hot bath and a warm bed on a cold night. If only he'd let his powers reach out and bond to Stiles.

It scared him.

And then there had been the Argent. That twisted his stomach up and left a sour taste in his mouth. Stiles' Guide was an Argent. Stiles' Guide wasn't Derek. Why he'd thought he could be Stiles' Guide he didn't know, because if he was Stiles' Guide then why had they taken Laura? Wouldn't they be able to tell who was a Guide and who wasn't? But, an Argent as a Guide when Argents were Guide-hunters. Jesus.

He followed the Silverado Stiles had gotten into the passenger seat of and knew that even if he hadn't seen Stiles get into the car, he would know Stiles was in there. The further he got from Stiles the more he realized that being a Guide meant that the further away from a Sentinel he was, the worse his empathy felt as it reached out toward empty space. It was something he'd have to control if he was going to be around Stiles. It was tricky, too, because there was also the risk that he'd be exposed. His Guide was an Argent, and already knew Guide-hunting methods...

A problem for another time.

Derek wasn't even sure what he was doing anymore. He scrubbed a hand over his face after pulling in to the station beside the Silverado.

He took one breath in, held it, and then let it out. They, Stiles and his Guide, had been in there for several minutes already.

The station was just like any other in the county, though small. It looked like it hadn't been updated since the 60s, and the lingering scent of cigarette smoke confirmed the notion. He wondered if that would be a problem for Stiles, but realized it wasn't any of his concern. No, his concern would be trying not to get caught.

Stiles was sitting in the corner, chewing on the side of his thumb. Derek wanted to pull his hand away from his mouth, make sure he wasn't hurting himself in his anxiety. Instead he drew a steadying breath, preparing to walk over to Stiles. And then Stiles' attention snapped toward him. Derek frowned. Was his control slipping? No. It had been the sudden change in breathing pattern. Under Stiles' scrutiny he felt awkwardly aware of his every action, from the saliva that seemed to be choking him to the way he held his body. But Stiles was no Guide. And he couldn't read minds.

Derek took another steadying breath and walked toward Stiles, who gave him a wan smile.

"I feel like I'm twelve again."

Derek realized he must be reliving memories right now. Good, bad, Derek didn't know. The last time Stiles had been at the station was before his mother had died. Before he'd been taken. Derek wondered what Stiles was feeling, but refused to reach out with his empathy. Not knowing what would happen if he did.

"Ah," he said.

"I can't believe I'm going to see my dad again. I—" Stiles let out a nervous breath and held the seat of the chair he was sitting on until his knuckles went white.

Where was his Guide? Shouldn't she be at his side right now?

Derek reached out to pry Stiles' hands from the chair gently.

"Oh, thanks," Stiles said, flexing his fingers as though they hurt.

Before Derek could say anything, another car pulled in to the station parking lot, throwing light on the both of them. The Argent came out of the bathroom just as a man—Sheriff Stilinski, Derek realized—came running into the station.

"Stiles."

The Sheriff and Stiles paused and stared at one another. Then Stiles stood, and the Sheriff walked over to him. The Sheriff pulled Stiles into a hug.

"I'm so glad you're okay," the Sheriff said, obviously choked up.

"I'm glad you're okay, too," Stiles said. Derek could practically taste the joy radiating off him. The Argent—her name had started with an A… Angela?—came and put her hand on Stiles' back and he could  _ feel _ Stiles' joy leeching away, feel her making Stiles artificially calm. Anger built in his stomach, but before Derek said anything Stiles pulled away from his father and gave the Argent a watery smile and said, "Thanks."

The Argent looked like she'd been the one who had her emotions ripped away. She nodded.

Derek frowned. What was that all about?

—

Laura worried at the empty wall, flopped over on the tiny double bed. She couldn't sense Stiles anywhere in the compound. It had happened only two or three times before. The Center really hadn't wanted to separate the two of them until they realized that she and Stiles weren't bonding because of his age, but because they were completely incompatible with each other. 

Every day since the day the Center had taken her and Stiles she had worried that they'd get to Derek too. She feared that someone would realize that if she hadn't been the one to draw Stiles out of the frenzy then the only other person who could have drawn him out was Derek. But so far, she'd convinced them that she really was the one who drew Stiles out even though they were incompatible  _ now _ .

The Center thought it had to do with the traumatic way Stiles came online, that he'd been broken somehow and that's why they couldn't bond. The Center thought he'd asymmetrically pre-bonded with Laura, who'd been the closest available Guide. That's why he couldn't bond with any of the other Guides. Stiles thought so, too, because to his own knowledge he'd only ever been in contact with one Guide in his life before the Center—Laura.

But Laura knew better.

Stiles was already bonded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed a couple of details if you've been reading along. Derek is now an extra year older than Stiles and the killings have only been going on for 30 years.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything I know about criminal investigations I learned from Criminal Minds, Bones, and CSI, and it's probably all wrong.

His team assembled on either side of him, Stiles stood nervously in front of the room full of deputies and borrowed officers.

"In brief, we're looking for a serial killer, one who's based out of Beacon Hills. He's smart, flew under the radar for years," Stiles said. "And he's very good at covering his tracks. Except recently he hasn't been hiding his tracks at all—he's escalating."

"What makes you think he's been killing for years?" Stiles' dad said. He still hadn't stopped staring at Stiles like he was going to disappear at any moment.

Stiles went up to the whiteboard where he put up the map he'd gotten from the gas station. He pointed to one of the red flags and said, "Each one of these represents a violent death that's happened in the last thirty years that have remained unsolved." He pointed to the purple flags that were on the map too. "These represent disappearances that I think are linked." He rubbed the back of his head. There were a handful of flags—a dozen, plus the three recent deaths. It didn't look like much.

"Thirty years is a long time," said one of the female officers. "What made you look at all of those?"

"You are..." Stiles reached out with his senses but all he could tell was that she was wearing a natural roll-on perfume, and that she was on medication and had been for a long time. 

"Officer Reyes," she offered. "Beacon Valley PD."

"Ah," Stiles said. "Anyway, I was looking into the cold cases around Beacon Hills in the last hundred years, boredom you know, and these ones that stood out." He tapped each one. "The victims presented symptoms of extended Cortenine use, including reduced bone mass resulting in bone breakage."

Stiles took a deep breath. "Based on my profile, the perp will be a white male, age 40 to 65. Fit and in good health, knows his way around guns, so mark anyone who fits that description, but for now we're searching for Cortenine users."

"Why are we tracking down Cortenine users?" Derek asked.

Stiles frowned. "Its purpose is the suppression of Guide empathy. It was developed during World War II as a method of torture." He shook his head. "But some rogue Guides use it to suppress their empathy to prevent them from being tracked through their empathy. It's the easiest way to track down rogue Guides, but the signs are subtle and easily misattributed."

"How long between kills?" His dad asked.

"Years at first," Stiles said. "But gathering momentum. If he keeps on with this trajectory we'll be waiting mere days between kills by next year."

"He has an M.O.," Boyd said from the corner of the room. "Headshot every time."

"Hollowpoint?" Officer Reyes asked. "Executions?"

"No, those are recent developments."

Stiles' dad rubbed a hand across his chin. "So what you're telling us is that there's a serial killer here. Most likely been living here for the past thirty years, going after Guides exclusively?"

"But rogue Guides have no reason to come here," Derek said.

"If we can figure out why they're coming here, that will lead us to the killer," Stiles said. "He's luring them here somehow. We track the victims, we find the killer."

"For now we have the advantage. We keep this out of the media," Lydia said. "Anyone so much as breathes a word of this to a journalist, and you'll be out a job and brought up on charges for obstruction."

"But shouldn't the public know about this?" Deputy Parrish asked.

"If we let the public know, the killer will know too. We need to keep the element of surprise or we'll lose. For now, we talk to the families, see if these rogue Guides had any reason for coming to Beacon Hills or the surrounding area," Lydia said.

"So, because the victims are rogues, because they're disposable, you don't feel the need to warn them?" Derek asked, lip curled.

"They're  _ not _ disposable," Stiles said, frustrated. "That's not why we can't let the media catch wind of this." Stiles wanted, no, needed Derek to understand. He looked straight into Derek's eyes. Pleading with his gaze. Derek looked away first. Angrily. "We need to catch his victim first, before he does," Stiles said.

"And then what? Convince them to act as bait? And after they help us catch the killer we, what, send them to the Center? Thanks for your service, now go join your brethren in captivity." Derek shook his head. "Someone's going to get hurt."

"Then what do you suggest?" Stiles asked. "You've been here all of five minutes and you think you know better than me?"

"Because it's all about you, isn't it?" Derek asked. "Typical Sentinel," he muttered under his breath.

Where the hell was this coming from? "What do you mean, typical Sentinel? That isn't what I meant to say." Stiles realized his mistake as soon as the words left his mouth. He shouldn't have been able to hear Derek's last comment.

Derek's expression shuttered. "I was out of line. Excuse me," he said, and stood to leave.

"Derek, wait." But Derek left without looking back. Stiles stood awkwardly in front of a room full of deputies and officers feeling completely lost. Allison came up behind him and put a hand in the small of his back, calming waves coming off her.

Lydia saved him. She clapped her hands to get everyone's attention. "Now we canvass. Look for people from out of town, especially those who might be Cortenine users. They'll exhibit symptoms of depression, reduced sensory acuity, poor blood circulation, and increased anxiety. Keep an eye out for older white men in fighting shape." She nodded at the officers and deputies gathered in the room. "Thank you."

Then she marched right up to Stiles, who had finally dropped the hand that was reaching out to Derek to stop him from walking away, and pulled at his elbow to get him to come along with her to the Sheriff's office. She closed the door behind her.


	8. Chapter 8

Derek was shaking when he left the building. He felt like he was going to throw up. It took several gulps of the crisp morning air to steady him. He could barely contain his fury. He didn't know which was worse: the plan or that Stiles had come up with it. When he first met Stiles again, he thought that nothing had changed. But to conceive of such a callous plan… Derek shuddered in a way that had nothing to do with the chill of the air.

The wrong Stilinski was coming from behind him. Concern radiated from the Sheriff.

"You all right, son?"

"I don't— I can't—" Derek gave a frustrated growl.

"I know it must be hard to hear him talk so cavalierly of going after Guides, what with your sister…"

"How can you—" Derek started to ask before he had fully formed a thought.

"How can I what?"

"How can you just sit there and listen to him talking about people like they're pawns in some game?" Derek asked.

"I'm not sure I'm the right person to ask this question of," the Sheriff said wryly. "He's my son. I haven't seen him since he was a kid. If he'd killed a man I would only ask one question, and it'd be 'where do I hide the body', if it meant him coming back to me."

"I know that," Derek said. "I know. I… my sister. If it was the same situation." Derek huffed angrily. "If I was in the same situation I wouldn't ask questions either. But I'm not."

"He believes what he's doing is for their good," the Sheriff said. The Sheriff rubbed one hand across his face. "If I know anything about Stiles I know the look he gets when he thinks what he's doing is right."

"It's a mistake," Derek said, "He's never going to convince these rogue Guides to give up their freedom. He shouldn't even be trying."

"Then explain that to him."

"Would he listen?" The Center had already brainwashed him. When Derek had protested all Stiles felt was confusion and fear. Fear of Derek. Which made it all the worse.

"He's still my son. He'll listen."

—

Laura listened. She heard the soft click of the lock and the hiss of the hydraulics as the door released. She could practically smell the fear on the nurses who came in.

"'m not gonna 'tack you," she slurred, amused despite the Cortenine cocktail they had her on. "Don't gotta be afraid," she said. If anything it made them more afraid.

They were wearing full hazmat-style suits so she couldn't touch their bare skin.

They didn't talk. One pulled her loosely hanging arm from where it had fallen over the edge of the mattress pad and the other pulled out the needle. She couldn't even tense when the needle penetrated the thin skin of her inner elbow. The one who was holding her arm was breathing hard.

The one who administered the drug cocktail tucked her arm back inside the cot.

She could taste the impatience of the one who had held her arm, but still neither said anything.

As they left, and the door closed, she could hear one of them saying, "Jesus that was terrifying. How do they justify—"

"Shh…"

—

Lydia finally let go of Stiles' arm when they were fully inside his dad's office.

"You can't go around picking fights with the borrowed officers, Stiles," she said.

"But—"

"Am I your public relations liaison or not?" She pointed one finger at him. "I don't care if he started it, you end it."

"What if he's right, though," Stiles said, stomach sinking. "He brought up a good point. We'll never get these Guides to cooperate if they think we're just going to send them to the Center."

"Then they shouldn't have been rogue Guides in the first place," Lydia said.

"Hold on, do you smell that?" Stiles said. "Like cigarette smoke but sweet."

"Smell what?" Lydia asked. "Not all of us have super-senses."

"So you don't?"

"I smell nothing but stale coffee and old papers."

Stiles moved around the room to the desk. "It smells like it's coming from in here."

"That's your dad's desk. Should you really be..?"

Stiles pulled open one of the drawers. He drew the source of the smell out by two fingers, gritting his teeth.

"Gum?" Lydia said, raising one eyebrow.

"Not just any gum. Nicotine gum." Stiles shook his head. "But why would my dad even have this in his desk? He doesn't smoke." He hadn't smelled smoke on his dad that was for certain. He stared at the gum blister package.

"Stiles, focus."

"Huh?"

"Borrowed officers? Not starting fights?"

"Got it," Stiles said. "I'll apologize when I get the chance."

"No," Lydia said. "You set him straight. He follows our guidelines or it's back to wherever the hell he came from. He can't just flout our authority because he may or may not have a good point."

"You don't understand," Stiles said. "He's a Hale."

"A Hale?" Lydia blinked.

"His sister is Laura." Stiles was glad Allison wasn't in the room. He didn't know why he was keeping it a secret that Laura was a Hale from Allison but for some reason it seemed important.

"Shit." Lydia frowned. "Can we get him taken off the case?"

"Lydia!"

"What? If he can't be objective, then he shouldn't be on the case."

"We need him."

"Ugh. You're going to give me the 'one officer can make or break the case' speech, aren't you?"

"That's not even a thing."

Lydia stared at him.

"I'll talk to him," Stiles said. "He's already here so we may as well use him."

"Why are you fighting so hard to keep him on the task force?"

"Because he's a good officer and we need—"

"You haven't even known him for two minutes! What is it about this guy that you're so insistent on keeping him. What is it, his ass—" She hissed and narrowed her eyes at Stiles. "You have a crush."

"What?" Stiles' jaw dropped open.

"You have a crush. Was that your version of pigtail pulling?"

A feeble protest came out of Stiles' mouth. "I don't have a crush on him!"

She pointed a threatening finger at him. "And why should I believe you?"

"He was the last person I saw before I was taken by the Center," Stiles said. "I don't have a crush on him." It wasn't a lie. Stiles had been twelve when he had a crush on Derek. "But I need him to stick around." Stiles held his entire body stiff, to prevent himself from grabbing her, not while his control was shot. He saw her notice."He was there when Laura drew me out of the frenzy. He could be the key to finding out why I bonded with her and she didn't bond with me."

Lydia took one sharp breath and then let it out in a huff.

Stiles flexed his hands out of fists and forced his body to relax. Her expression softened minutely.

"Fine, we'll keep him around," Lydia said. "Just don't regret it."


	9. Chapter 9

It was night. Laura could tell because there were fewer people walking the halls. She sat up on the cot, feeling the blood rush from her face downward. It was all she could do to prevent herself from fainting. Damned drugs. She closed her eyes and concentrated on sensing out the guards.

The camera in the corner blinked at her, the red indicator light the single spot of color in the white room.

If Stiles wasn't at the Center, where was he?

He'd been so excited to start his FBI training two years ago, but then they never put him on any cases. Then again the last time he'd talked to her was when she was out of isolation, about three weeks ago.

She let herself fall back down onto the pillow on the cot. The guards were bored. Good. Boredom was easier to deal with than fear. Fear made them more alert. The ones monitoring the cameras probably hadn't even seen her sit up, for which she was grateful. She, too, was bored. Then she noticed that one of the guards in the observation room spiked fear and winced. The only reason she'd done it was to do something with her body.

She knew they were afraid of how strong she was that she could still sense their emotions while on Cortenine. She knew that her being able to move while under the influence of its strongest dose made them nervous around her. The truth was, though, that she was a wolf with its teeth drawn. How they thought she could do anything while near catatonic she didn't know. Sometimes it was amusing. Sometimes it just grated on her nerves.

She closed her eyes.

"Don't move," came a tinny voice over the speaker that was in the opposite corner of the room from the camera. Not one of the guards. A woman. Laura hadn't even noticed her she'd been so intent on counting the guards.

"Not moving," she drawled. "Though I could do with some entertainment here. A book, maybe."

Now all four guards in the observation room were spiking fear. Not good.

Within ten minutes the door drew open. Someone walked through the door—not suited up or even masked. A doctor. Without saying anything, the doctor, a woman who smelled faintly of rosewater, pulled out a pen light and flashed it into Laura's eyes.

"How do you feel?" She put the light away.

"Like shit. You new here?" Laura closed her eyes against the bright spots dancing behind her eyelids. She asked, even though she already knew the answer.

"Yes," the woman said. "And you shouldn't be conscious right now."

"Whoopdee-freaking-doo."

"I'm Morrell."

"Congratulations," Laura said. "And I'm supposed to care, why?"

"I'm your ticket out of here," Morrell said.

"More tests?" Last time they'd strapped her up to a lie detector and forced her to read the emotions of everyone in the room. As she went on, all she could read from them was fear.

"I'm going to take some blood from you."

Laura snorted. "Thanks for the announcement I guess." No one had ever asked her if they could take her blood before. They just did it.

"I think you're starting to metabolise the Cortenine faster." Morrell talked as she felt for Laura's vein.

"Should you really be telling me this?" Laura asked one eyebrow raised.

"If you don't want them to start giving you stronger doses of it you should cooperate. You might die."

"Ah, I see." Laura wanted to roll her eyes. "You think you can do anything worse than what you're already doing to me right now?" She winced as the needle went in. Morrell filled two vials with her blood. "No offense, lady, but this drug was meant to torture Guides. I don't think it can get any worse."

"If you cooperate, I can get you out of here."

"Out of the Center?" Laura scoffed. Morrell's mouth pressed into a line. "Don't be so surprised."

"When they told me you were still reading them, I didn't quite believe it, but…"

"Where is Stiles?" Laura asked, changing the subject. "He's not in the compound."

"How would you know? You're not bonded." Morrell asked.

"I don't need a bond to know that he's not here," Laura said. "Where is he?"

"He's out on an assignment."

Laura's breath came faster. "An assignment? Without a Guide?"

"He has a Guide with him."

"A temporary Guide. Why didn't they send me out with him?" She could have protected him, unlike whatever temp Guide they dumped on him.

"They don't trust you to go out. Especially not in the condition you're in."

"You mean drugged to the gills? I wouldn't want the public to see me either, if I were the Center."

"You're a danger to yourself and others." Morrell didn't seem scared or surprised. Instead she was… embarrassed.

"I can barely go to the bathroom on my own, what makes you think I could endanger a fly?" Laura looked down. "What are you doing to me?" Instead of taking blood, Morrell was administering something through the needle. Laura panicked, but couldn't move. Her breathing sped up. "What is this?" Her head went light.

"Just a mild sedative."

—

"I'd like to apologize."

Stiles looked up from the form he was signing, mouth gone slack. "No," he said after a second of awkward silence. "Sorry, I mean, you weren't the only one in the wrong. Please, sit," he said to Derek.

Derek sat.

"I guess I should start by explaining," Stiles said. "I sort of think it's a bad plan, too." That was a good starting point: Common ground. "But it's what came from up above."

"So how are you going to fix it?"

"I'm not sure… how." Stiles rubbed the back of his head while Derek stared unblinkingly at him.

"You could start by promising them they won't get sent back to the Center."

"I can't do that," Stiles said. "First of all, I don't have the authority and second…"

"Second?"

"They belong at a Center."

"Why? So they can meet their Sentinels and live happily ever after? Everything is all right as long as the Sentinels have their Guides, is that it? That's what you want?"

Stiles felt stung. This conversation wasn't going the way he wanted it to. Of course he wanted his Guide. Not some substitute, but his real Guide, who could prevent him from zoning every time he felt things too intensely, so he wouldn't need Allison to suppress his emotions every time he felt anything. Wasn't that what every Sentinel wanted?

"It's for their own good," Stiles said, trying to remain calm.

"How so?"

"Guides are vulnerable until they get their Sentinel," Stiles said. All of the literature was clear on that.

"But how will bringing them to the Center help them? By taking away all their rights?" Derek scoffed.

"No! They don't take away all their rights," Stiles said. But could he really say that when Laura was in isolation right at this very moment?

"Oh? So they just let the Guides do whatever they want, no questions asked?" It was a leading question. Stiles knew better than to answer. Especially when the Center had barely even given _him_ permission to be outside the compound without being bonded.

"Only bonded pairs are stable enough to be outside of the compound. Without their Guide, without their Sentinel, Sentinels and Guides are vulnerable." The words came out easily, like something from a pamphlet he'd read somewhere.

"Your father said you would understand," Derek said darkly. He stood, drawing a few curious looks.

"Wait, Derek," Stiles said, almost catching his wrist, but stopping himself at the last second. "I _do_ understand," Stiles said. He wanted to run his thumb across the thin skin at Derek's pulse. That would be inappropriate. "I get it," Stiles tried again. "You're mad because they wouldn't let Laura contact you guys."

"Mad? You think I'm just _mad_? It's been ten years, Stiles. Aren't you absolutely livid, too? They didn't let you contact your father!"

"They had good reasons for that," Stiles snapped back. "You don't think it was hard for me? I was only twelve, for god's sake. If these Guides had just cooperated and turned themselves in, they wouldn't be in this situation."

The fist that slammed into his face, well. It wasn't exactly unexpected per se.

The split second of pure bliss was.

And then he zoned.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just FYI I will return to work this week so updates will no longer be every day-ish as they have been. Sorry.

"Focus on me, you bastard."

There was a clamoring of sounds all around him but the voice cut through everything else. That and the seething anger behind it.

"Oh, you're surprised that I'm angry?"

Stiles wasn't surprised. He was… He couldn't tell that Derek had been mad. In fact, the only reason he could tell Derek was even around was because he could see him. Why was that? He reached out with all his senses. He could hear Derek breathing. He could tell the person talking to him was Derek because of the pattern of his breaths, the harmonics of his voice. He honed in on the sound of Derek's voice more, until the rest of the world fell away.

"Stop that."

"Stiles!" This voice was… Allison. She was holding his hand and trying to retrieve him from his zone. "Focus on me," she said, "the lights are getting dimmer. It's sunset, the lights are growing dim..."

"Focus on me," Derek murmured. "The lights are getting dimmer…"

—

Laura blinked at the brightness of the light.

"So you think you can torture me more by subjecting me to bright lights?" She tried to ask, but instead all that came out was an indistinct mumble. She was actually starting to get scared. She felt herself start to shake with a sort of physical detachment.

"State your name."

"Laura Hale."

"Did you ever lie to get out of trouble?"

"No," Laura said, relaxing. This was familiar territory.

"Have you ever committed a crime?"

"No," Laura said.

"Can you sense what I'm feeling."

"No," Laura said, her heart beating ever so slightly faster.

"Lie," said someone in the room. A Sentinel.

Laura squinted against the bright light. "It's the truth!" Laura said.

"Lie."

"Calm down, Laura, we're not going to hurt you."

 _Lie_ , Laura thought.

—

Stiles was back in his body. And he felt… good. Better than good. He stretched and took a deep breath. Then another. He was in a hospital bed. A Sentinel clean room. Except the sensation of the blanket on his skin wasn't like tiny knives as the individual threads pressed against his skin, it was just a blanket. As for who was in the room...

"Allison?"

Her face appeared above him. "I'm here," she said.

"Did you draw me out of the zone?"

She frowned. "Of course I did," she said, "who else?"

"But I thought," he shook his head to clear it. "Where's Derek?"

"Him? Why would he be here? He's the one who made you zone." She looked angry.

"Don't be mad at him," Stiles said, making to sit up.

"Hold on," Allison said, and pressed a button on the side of the bed that made a motor whirr into life softly to lift the bed. "He hit you. He's a barbarian."

"He had a good reason," Stiles said. It was like a repeat of what he'd said to Derek. This time, though, he was more careful about his words. "He thought I was insulting his sister."

"His sister?" Allison asked.

"What really went on between your families?" Stiles asked as if it was an answer to her question.

Allison bit her lip. "We were really young when it happened. This was before I went to the Center," she said, "but my family pushed really hard for the Hales to get screened for Guide talent and the Hales sued us. It turned out that they'd been hiding a Guide, Laura…" Her lips parted as she had the realization.

"Laura Hale," Stiles finished for her.

"Laura as in your Laura?" Allison asked.

"So they sued you? Did they win?"

"Yeah. The courts ruled it as a breach of their privacy, so none of their other children got tested even though Guides run in families."

"Why did your family push for that?"

"They thought that Laura was a false negative in the school tests because she was so strong. Or she was a late bloomer. Either way, my family thought there might be other Guides in the Hale family."

"But none of the others ever got tested."

"Not beyond the school testing. But that was before the new tests were developed."

"Did it turn out that they had any more Guides in the family?"

"We'll never know," Allison said, "They found a sympathetic judge who'd had his son taken into Center custody like Laura was. The Hales can't be compelled to get tested anymore. It was a ruling after they pressed suit for harassment against my family."

"Why did your family press so hard?"

"We're Guide hunters, Stiles," Allison frowned. "It's our job."

—

Laura's heart rate spiked as the unknown Sentinel approached.

"Where's the Guide?" She asked. They'd always had a Guide representative when they did tests on her for some reason, probably to reassure her. She shouldn't have been able to feel their presence while on Cortenine, she knew, but she was also scared because that meant that they might do something to her that they couldn't when there was a Guide around.

The Sentinel paused. "How do you know there's no Guide nearby?"

Laura bared her teeth. "Like I'm going to tell you that."

"We need you to cooperate with us," the Sentinel said. He bared his teeth back at her. "You're scared."

"Don't be so pleased with yourself," she snapped. And then realized her mistake.

"So you _can_ still sense my feelings."

"I can't," Laura said. She was telling the truth but her heart beat faster. She had to protect herself and her secret.

"Lie."

"Not a lie!"

She couldn't possibly sense what they were feeling in the first place, since she wasn't a Guide, after all.

She was a Sentinel.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year!

It was near normal waking hours when Stiles snuck out. After his conversation with Allison, the nurses had chased her out of his room ostensibly so he could rest. But he didn't rest. Instead, he quietly turned off the machines he was hooked up to and slipped out of the Sentinel-proofed room.

First and foremost on his mind was an apology. He really needed to apologize for what he'd said. And then he had to confess. He had a secret. One he couldn't even tell Allison. One he could hardly think about for fear she might pick up on it.

He didn't feel like he was going to zone. He felt good. Really good, like he could use his senses and not have to worry about zoning. And he really needed to find Derek.

He tried smell, but that got him nothing.  _ Weird _ , he thought, as he walked. He ought to be able to smell Derek on himself at least. Traces of sweat. Something. But it was like Derek didn't even exist to his nose. He closed his eyes to try hearing.

There. There was Derek's pattern of breathing. His footsteps coming—

"Shit!"

Stiles had no time to dodge Derek and ended up slamming into him.

Derek quickly looked around to make sure no one heard Stiles. And then he pulled him aside until they reached a janitor's closet.

"Stiles, are you all right?" Derek asked, pushing him into the closet and closing the door behind himself. He turned on the overhead light. "When they took you away, I thought…" He looked sick.

It must have been exactly like the first time the Center took him away to Derek, Stiles realised. Stiles reached out to put his hand on the crook of Derek's neck. A feeling of sheer euphoria came over him, like returning home after years of being gone to find everything still the same. He leaned into Derek, knees gone weak.

"I'm okay," he said, voice vague. He nuzzled into the crook of Derek's neck, seeking his scent but found nothing. "Why don't you smell like anything?" He asked Derek. Derek stiffened under his hold and thrust Stiles away.

"Don't smell me," he said.

"I  _ can't _ ," Stiles whined. He made grabby hands for Derek but Derek pushed him away further—at least as far as he could inside the closet. "I need…"

"Concentrate," Derek said, and slapped Stiles on the cheek lightly. The euphoria came and went with the contact like a splash of cold water. "We need to talk."

"Oh, yeah. I wanted to apologize—"

"It's not about that. Gerard Argent is back in town."

"Allison's grandpa? Why does that matter?"

"He's a hunter. He'll—" Derek pulled back and his lips pressed together. He shook his head. "What was that about an apology?"

"I wanted to say I am sorry. I didn't mean to insult Laura like that. I don't think that people who are rogue Guides deserve to die."

"Well, you're right about that," Derek said. He leaned back and crossed his arms. "But what are we going to do about it."

It was now or never.

"I… I know some people," Stiles said, licking his lips. "They… they get potential Guides out of Center-run towns and into sanctuary cities."

"Stiles, where did you—"

"That's not important," Stiles said firmly. "What's important is that we  _ can _ offer protection to the rogue Guides."

"Then what was all that stuff about Guides needing to be sent to the Center?"

Stiles let out a shaky breath. "Because Allison was there."

"The Argent," Derek said.

Stiles nodded. But before he could say anything else, they heard a frantic voice shouting, "Stiles? Stiles?"

"That's my dad!" Stiles said, and tried to open the door to the janitor's closet. It was locked. "Dad!" he shouted, panicking.

"Calm down, Stiles," Derek said. He put one hand on the back of Stiles' neck and the Sentinel immediately calmed.

"You locked us in here?" He said to Derek.

"I wasn't thinking," Derek said, "I think it locks automatically."

Stiles pounded a fist on the door. "Can anyone get us out of here?" He shouted. He was no longer panicking, which was a good thing, but the loudness of his own voice rang in his ears. He shook his head.

"Are you all right?" Derek asked.

"Where is he?" A voice asked. Derek stiffened.

"Who was that?" Stiles asked.

"Gerard," Derek growled. "You can't let him see me," Derek said.

"Why?" Stiles asked.

"You have your secrets, I have mine," Derek said.

"Is this because of the feud between your family and theirs?" Stiles asked. "Because the way I read it, you can't be touched, even if you were a Guide they can't force you to get tested."

Derek stilled. "What do you mean?"

"Allison said that none of the Hales could be tested again otherwise it constitutes harassment."

"You don't know anything about it," Derek snarled.

Stiles was taken aback. "What do you mean?"

"It's true that they can't force us to get tested, but they can force us to surrender if they know that we're a Guide."

"What do you—" Stiles' eyes widened. "You're… you're a Guide?"


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my muse for this story [subnivean](http://archiveofourown.org/users/subnivean/pseuds/subnivean), who comes up with the best ideas.

Derek took in the boquet of emotions that Stiles let off: hurt, anger, sadness, and joy all at once. He understood the hurt and anger and even the joy, but he wasn't sure what the sadness was all about.

"I'm a Guide," he said. It felt strange to say out loud. He'd never said so, not even to his parents. It was also a relief. "I'm a Guide," he said again. He reached out with his empathy toward Stiles and again was the sensation of fitting like a key to a lock. He could practically feel Stiles thinking.

"Stiles!" The Sheriff shouted through the door.

"I'm okay, Dad!" Stiles called back. "The door is locked. Can you go get someone?"

"Help me with the lock," Stiles said to Derek. "I have an idea."

"Ok," Derek said, and pulled out his wallet. Derek felt his joy at having someone who didn't question what he was saying.

"What's that for?" Stiles asked.

"The lock," Derek said, and pulled out one of his credit cards. He shoved it in the gap between the door and the doorjamb and slid it toward the locking mechanism. He jiggled the handle but it was stuck. He tried again and this time the lock released.

"How does a cop know how to force a lock like that," Stiles asked.

"I wasn't born a cop," Derek said, "How does a Sentinel get involved with a Guide smuggling ring?" Stiles was briefly embarrassed and scared. "You don't have to be scared," he said. "We'll keep each other's secret." Derek felt his wash of relief.

And then Stiles felt… strange. Anticipatory. Excited 

"You could… are you my Guide?"

"This isn't the time, Stiles." For some reason the way Stiles was looking at him disconcerted Derek. Mostly because it was something carnal and primitive. Stiles leaned in closer.

"Stiles!" Derek hissed. "We have bigger problems right now,"

Stiles licked his lips. "But if you bonded with me right now, we could—"

Derek's blood seemed to curdle in his veins. "I'm not going to bond with you, Stiles," he snapped. Stiles reared back, stung. "Not… not right now," Derek said, because for some reason making Stiles feel awful made Derek feel awful. Derek reached out put his hand on Stiles' neck. Stiles stretched toward his hand as if trying to get more contact with Derek's skin. "First we have to get out of here. Do you hear anyone outside?"

"No, they went to get someone to open the door."

"Good. I'm going to go."

"Wait," Stiles said, catching the back of Derek's shirt.

"What is it?" Derek asked.

"Never mind. It's nothing that can't wait," Stiles said.

"I'll come back," Derek said. "Don't worry."

With a wan smile, Stiles waved him off. "Go," he said.

Derek went.

—

Gritting her teeth, Laura struggled not to pull at the bonds that tied her to the cot. The van was moving. If she had her full strength she could have just snapped the leather bonds, but weakened as she was from years of sedation, all she could do was make sure she'd flexed when they put the bonds on. It gave her less than a centimeter of movement. So that wasn't an option.

She took a calming, deep breath. And then another. A tic left over from the days before she'd been put on Cortenine and couldn't zone.

Zoning.

A little light went off in her head.

She could zone. Or fake a zone at any rate. And they would think she was having a stroke, or having a catatonic breakdown. She dialed up her hearing and let the white noise of the tires on the road fill her head.

—

Stiles' plan, such that it was, was simple.

It was even a sort of half-truth.

He was going to say he smelled his Guide. Sentinels had done crazy things to get to their Guides, so sneaking out of a hospital room without telling anyone wasn't anywhere far out of the realm of possibility. There was the whole turning off all the equipment thing, but whatever.

He closed the door on himself again and waited for his dad and the others, because there were doctors and orderlies and nurses, too. But all of that blew out of his head when he saw who was with his dad.

"Scott?"

Scott threw himself at Stiles, giving him a giant hug. "Stiles!"

"What are you doing here?" Stiles asked.

"When my mom said there was a Sentinel in town I thought it might be you, then when I heard that Sentinel got stuck in a closet I was like that's definitely him!"

"How have you been?" Stiles asked. "There's so much I want to talk to you about."

"Me too, but I think—"

"I would like a word." Stiles' smile froze on his face. It was the same man's voice as before, the one Derek had said was Gerard.

"Sure," he said, turning to the man. He was elderly, but not particularlhy frail looking. In fact, he looked like he could stab a man. "What can I do you for?"

"Who was with you in that closet?" He asked.

A chill went down Stiles' spine. "No one," he said. Stiles' dad and all of the nurses and orderlies and doctors that were with him looked at Gerard like he was crazy.

"But how did you end up getting locked in there?"

Heart thumping in his throat, Stiles' tongue tripped smoothly over his lie. "I thought I smelled my Guide," he said.

"In a janitor's closet?"

"Could have happened while the janitor was cleaning the rooms," Stiles' dad said. Stiles immediately felt a wash of gratitude toward his father.

Gerard raised an eyebrow.

"Who are you anyway?" Stiles asked.

"Gerard Argent."

Stiles forced himself to blink as if surprised. "Allison's grandpa?"

He saw Gerard's eyes narrow and wondered what had given him away.


	13. Chapter 13

"You've found your Guide?" Scott asked. "Congrats!"

"I think I have," Stiles said. He kept one eye on Gerard the whole time, to gauge the man's reaction. Although the man smiled, the expression didn't reach his eyes

The only thing he knew was that if Laura wasn't his Guide then Derek had to be. Derek was the only other person that was around during Stiles' frenzy. He was the only other one who could have Guided Stiles.

The thought made Stiles' heart race. To have a Guide! His Guide! Not some temp Guide who actually belonged to some other Sentinel, some unknown who would eventually take the Guide away. Even Allison, who was his friend as well as a Guide, wasn't enough. And soon she'd be someone else's.

But then he remembered: if his Guide was Derek... well, Derek didn't want to be a Guide. Why else had he hidden that he was a Guide for so long? And he'd been conscious during the whole frenzy incident, unlike Stiles, so if he  _ was _ Stiles' Guide, he knew it. So the natural conclusion was that Derek knew he was a Guide, knew he was Stiles' Guide, and just didn't want any part of that. That thought made Stiles sick to his stomach. He wasn't a monster. He wasn't going to force Derek to be his Guide against Derek's will.

That was the whole point of the Guide smuggling ring. Stiles hadn't started it, no, but he sure had aided and abetted it.

At first he'd joined them because he thought maybe they could get Laura out of the Center, but all of those who he contacted said it would be impossible, that she was too tightly guarded. They'd heard of her, not just from him. It was a myth in the Guide underground: an empath so powerful that Cortenine couldn't prevent her from using her power. Stiles had wanted to laugh at that, because she was just… just Laura. No mystery to her. But then he overheard people talking about her.

The Center administrators were so afraid of her that they'd kept her imprisoned since the day she was brought in. They actually feared the day when she bonded with a Sentinel, though they'd been forced by the main Center in Quantico to try to pair her off with some of their military Sentinels.

"Has Allison talked about me?" Gerard asked as if genuinely curious.

"Sure," Stiles said, "All my Guides talk to me. I mean that's kind of a thing that they do." Which wasn't strictly true. There was that one Guide who refused to talk to Stiles. That was difficult. He ended up zoning several times because he didn't trust the Guide to talk him through the routine. And then there was the other Guide, who talked too much and was always touching Stiles against his will to make sure Stiles wasn't too focused on anything. Some of the Guides had worked well with him, enough that he might have  _ wanted _ to bond, but others. Well, he shuddered to think of them.

"And she told you what my job was?"

"You're a Guide hunter."

"I've volunteered my time to the Beacon Hills task force," Gerard said. "I can find your Guide."

Stiles' lips parted and he was about to say, "No," when he realized how that would look, and tried to come up with a plausible reason for denying Gerard. "No," he said, "I'll hunt my Guide on my own," he said, trying to sound cocky and possessive both.

A cross, frustrated look came over Gerard's face and then smoothed. Stiles only caught it because he was paying attention. "Hah! I guess I should know better than to offer help to a Sentinel to find their Guide," Gerard said with fake affability. "All right, boy," he said, patting Stiles on the back. If Stiles was a dog, his hackles would have risen. "But if you ever need help, just say the word."

—

Laura felt herself convulse as the guard sitting in the back of the van beside her finally took notice.

"Hey!" He shouted loudly at the driver of the vehicle. "She's having some kind of fit or something back here."

Holding back a grin, Laura continued thrashing against her bonds. The Cortenine had kicked into gear as soon as she felt herself zone but she'd gone far enough into it that her body was going into shock. In a way it was nice to reach out with her senses like that; she'd never been able to do it unreservedly before the Cortenine and after the Cortenine, well, it was difficult to even catch her thoughts.

The guard stood by the cot uncertainly, the key just dangling from his belt. She could just barely reach it. She concentrated on her sight, looking through her lashes at his belt while thrashing about. He was holding onto her shoulders now, trying to pin her down. She gave one particularly violent shudder and stole the key while he was trying to keep her still. In one sudden burst she thrust herself up from the cot with all her strength.


	14. Chapter 14

Laura ran through the woods, the branches of the trees whipping at her exposed skin. Her lungs burned with the effort but she pressed on. Finally she saw a tree with a large branch low enough she could reach it. She grasped hold and hauled herself up. Her pursuers paused underneath her tree and she held her breath. 

The Center would never make her guards Sentinels for fear that she would make them zone on purpose and get away. In that way she was in luck. A deer was running from the ruckus she and her pursuers caused, and that drew the guards north. With a grimace, she dropped down to the forest floor when she could no longer hear them within a few meters of her and headed south. Toward the town.

—

Derek followed his feet to the siren's call of a distressed Sentinel. He'd been on his way to his car when he lurched to a stop before he even knew what he was doing and turned toward the forest.

"Help," a voice called from the darkness. Derek sped toward it, running now that he'd heard. At first he'd thought that it was a mistake, but now that he'd been around Stiles in a zone he knew what a Sentinel in pain felt like; it was like walking on shards of glass and it only intensified as he moved toward the fallen Sentinel.

For one heartstopping moment he thought it was—

"Laura?"

But then the Sentinel turned her face toward him and said, "please, help." She wasn't Laura, she just had dark hair like Laura. "They took him," she said.

"Took who?" Derek asked.

"My Guide."

He didn't bother asking if she was all right, he simply took her hand and took her pain. She passed out in relief and he cursed himself through the stabbing pains in his body.

Then he called 911.

—

How did he know?

And then Stiles zeroed in on Gerard's nails with his sight—they were tinged blue. And Stiles knew.

Gerard Argent was a Guide. Gerard Argent was a Guide on Cortenine.

"Stiles? Stiles!"

Stiles shook his head. "Yeah?" he said.

"You okay?" Scott asked.

"Yeah," Stiles said, blinking. He had to stay calm. No. He had to show every emotion. But Guides weren't psychic, they could only read emotions and that only if they were concentrating on the person. Though, Gerard was most certainly concentrating on Stiles. He had to come up with an excuse for the surprise. "I just thought of something," Stiles said, making it up on the fly, "what if my Guide is one of the missing ones?"

That drew a reaction out of Gerard. A curled lip. Disdain. Why? Stiles quickly glanced away from Gerard to his father and then Scott, both of whom looked concerned.

"It would make sense," Stiles said, continuing despite himself, without thinking. "If my Guide were taken they could have been at the hospital. Somewhere in the area at least. I couldn't get a good handle on where their smell was, because it was so mixed with other people's." Gerard smiled smugly.

Why?

"I need to get some fresh air," Stiles said.

"What you need is to get back to your room," said one of the orderlies.

"Stiles!"

Derek came running down the hall. Stiles couldn't help the squeezing of his heart that came with Derek's sudden appearance, though Derek looked harried.

"What's wrong?" Stiles asked.

"We have a live one," Derek said in response. "Sorry," he said to Stiles' dad. "We've got a witness. And a crime scene."

"A witness?" Stiles' dad said.

Stiles looked toward his dad and noticed movement at the corner of his eye as the crowd of orderlies and nurses shifted.

Gerard was gone.

—

Derek grabbed Stiles by the hand and led him toward the parking lot, ignoring the jolt of surprise and excitement that ran through Stiles at the touch, as if he wasn't expecting Derek to want to touch him ever again.

"I'll brief you as we walk, come on," Derek said to Stiles. Stiles' dad fell into pace behind them as Derek dropped Stiles' hand. "I found a Latina female in the parking lot of the hospital on the east side. Toward the forest," he explained as he walked. "She'd suffered multiple GSW to the abdomen but she was conscious when I got to her. She said 'They' took her Guide."

"They," Stiles repeated.

"They," Derek confirmed.

"So it's a team," Sheriff Stilinski said.

"That's what I'm thinking," Derek said.

"But why would they attack a Guide with a Sentinel?" Stiles asked. "They've never done that before."

"What if they didn't know the Guide had a Sentinel?" Derek asked.

"A rogue bonded pair?" It sounded absurd even to Derek, but  _ what if _ ?

What if he was right?

"If there are rogue Guides there have to be rogue Sentinels," Derek said. "People don't like the Center, don't like the way that Guides are treated."

"Maybe they found a sympathetic Sentinel," Stiles said, "But what are the odds of them finding their bond mate?"

"I don't know," Derek said crossly. "She's in surgery right now, but we need to get to the crime scene to collect evidence. I have a kit in my car."


	15. Chapter 15

"I have a theory," Stiles said as they walked to the scene of the crime.

"What is it?" Derek asked.

"What if the killer is a rogue Sentinel?" Stiles mused. "It would make sense. A killer Sentinel, maybe feral, in a frenzy, going after Guides that he thinks are his and then killing them in a fit of anger."

"That doesn't explain the team aspect," Stiles' dad pointed out.

"You're right," Stiles said.

"But you may be on to something," Derek said. "Somehow they knew the Guides were Guides even despite them being on Cortenine. They probably have a Sentinel on their team. That Sentinel may even be the driving force behind the killings." Derek frowned. "But what about the profile?" He asked.

Stiles nodded. "White, male, 40s to 60s, in fighting shape. Plans things, not impulsive. Possibly a hunter."

"Why such a big range?" Derek asked.

"It's hard to pin down an age," Stiles said, "the only thing linking these Guides was the fact that they were Guides; their ages were variable."

"Instead of looking at it like that, what if we looked at it as the group of people? As in, what if the ages of the group is that wide?" Stiles' dad posited.

"If we're looking for at least two people, that would explain the range," Derek said.

"And one is a Sentinel," Stiles said.

Derek nodded. "We're here."

"Huh?" Stiles said.

"The crime scene."

"Right. Of course." Stiles felt his face heat. Derek gave him a knowing look and Stiles realized Derek probably felt his embarrassment. Stiles had been so wrapped up by their conversation he'd forgotten what they were doing. Now that he concentrated on his surroundings, he saw… well, just a parking lot. Blood pooled in one of the slots.

"Someone dropped her off here," Derek said. There were no streaks of blood indicating that she had dragged herself, just a pool of blood where she'd lain. "Can you smell the car?"

"Stiles shouldn't be using his senses without Allison here," Stiles' dad said.

Stiles shook his head. "It's all right, Dad," he said. About to tell his father about Derek being a Guide, Stiles stopped himself. "I feel all right," he said instead.

"I'll call for Allison," Stiles' dad said, and reached for his phone.

The panic Stiles felt came out of nowhere—it wasn't his, he realized, it was Derek's. Stiles patted Derek on the back, the sensation of floating less through the layers of clothes and leather.

"It'll be fine," Stiles said, trying to project calm at Derek, but unsure if it would work. Derek's shoulders untensed beneath his touch. "You're not on Cortenine?" Stiles asked, voice low.

"No, she'll sense me," Derek said.

Stiles grimaced. He didn't think Allison would out Derek as a Guide, but there was always the chance she would. Because he was a Hale, because her grandfather was a Guide hunter, because there was bad blood between their families. He didn't think she'd do it vindictively, but more out of a sense of honor toward her family. He had to get to her first.

"I'll do the talking," Stiles said.

—

By morning light, Laura was lightheaded and shaking. She could feel herself about to faint, so she crouched down in the dried out creek and tried not to throw up. Ten years on Cortenine almost constantly was taking its toll. She was going through withdrawal.

She stood, shivering. She had to get to civilization. The guards that had chased her were long gone, but soon they would be back, with dogs. Dogs were easy enough to fool, though, so she crossed the creek several times and doubled back on her own trail twice, making sure to leave her scent everywhere. And then she climbed the trees and got as far from that trail as possible, until she could no longer smell herself. She was shaking with exhaustion and exertion and withdrawal, but she managed to turn herself back toward the road.

The concrete was hard against the soles of her feet after the debris of the forest floor.

She held out a hand with her thumb up.

A car passed, then another.

Finally, one slowed for her.

"Need a ride?" The woman inside asked, having rolled down the window.

"Something like that," Laura said.

"Get in. I'll take you where you're going," the woman said, leaning over to open up the passenger side door. Laura hauled herself in, still shaking but trying to hide it now. The woman smelled of gunpowder and something else, something familiar.

"I just need to get to town," Laura said. "I'm Laura, by the way."

"Kate," the woman said, flashing a smile.


	16. Chapter 16

"So where are you headed?" Kate asked.

"Beacon Hills," Laura said. They were probably not far from Beacon Hills, but she couldn't be sure of where she was precisely.

"What a coincidence," Kate said, "I'm headed there too. What were you doing out there in the woods?"

"I got stranded," Laura said.

"Dressed like that? Are you a nurse?"

Laura looked down at the white scrubs she was wearing, and at her dirty toes. Then she realized that the familiar smell wasn't just coming from Kate, it was coming from herself, too. A chemical smell—Cortenine. Her heart beat faster. If this woman was on Cortenine then she had to be a Guide. And if she was a Guide, free of the Center, then it was possible she knew of other Guides that weren't controlled by the Center.

—

Stiles didn't even let Allison get out of the car, he simply opened the driver's side door and said, "Don't be surprised. He's a Guide." To Allison's credit, she only briefly looked confused, and then she started to look toward Derek. "Don't look at him," Stiles said. "My dad doesn't know."

"So, what do you want me to do?" Allison asked.

"Don't tell anyone," Stiles said. "Derek hates the Center." With good reason, of course. They'd taken Laura and not let her tell them if she was okay. Stiles wondered if Derek had guessed at the conditions the Center put her in. It was easy to imagine the worst. And, indeed, Laura had been put through the worst conditions the Center had to offer.

Allison nodded toward Stiles. "Is it going to be a problem?"

Stiles shook his head. "I think… he might be my Guide."

"But he doesn't like the Center," Allison said, voice flat.

"No, he does not," Stiles said softly. Allison rested a hand on his shoulder. Not to use her empathy, but just to comfort him. He smiled a little. "Thanks, Ally."

"We have to talk," she said, "my grandfather is in town."

"I know," Stiles said.

Allison evinced surprise. "You do?"

"Met him," Stiles said. "We definitely have to talk." He wondered if she knew her grandfather was a Guide. Probably not, if he was on Cortenine. She'd probably just never thought to check. And if Gerard had seen Derek, he'd know that Derek was the Guide who was inside the janitor's closet with Stiles even if he couldn't sense Derek because of the Cortenine. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Derek make an impatient gesture at his father.

"We already have their consultant on the case," Derek said, "We don't need further involvement from the Center."

Stiles realized he was honing in on his hearing in order to listen to Derek. Allison's hand on his shoulder cautioned him against going too far with his senses. But his senses seemed to reach out to Derek on their own. Derek's heart beat hard in his chest, his ire clearly rising. Stiles rushed over to diffuse the situation.

"I can handle this, dad," he said.

The stubbornness in Stiles' dad's jaw softened. "I'll let you try. But if it gets too much, we're going to the Center and demanding they send more people."

Stiles nodded. In the back of his mind he was remembering the nicotine gum. Nicotine was a stimulant. His dad was probably using it to get through the hard nights, but was it something worse? He still couldn't smell smoke on his dad--the only thing he did smell was the nicotine gum. He turned his attention to the crime scene, holding his hand out for Allison to grab and wishing it was Derek who grabbed his hand instead. But anyway.

"What do you smell, Stiles?" Allison asked. "What are you looking for?"

"A car," Stiles said distantly. "With blood." The woman had suffered multiple GSW to the abdomen. He was looking for… "And stomach acid."

He searched for the smell, for the sour rankness of stomach fluids and the thick coppery flavor of blood. It intermingled with the flat headache-inducing smell of tires and the slick of motor oil.

"What kind of car was it?" Allison asked. She was old hat at helping Stiles use his senses by now.

"A truck or an SUV," Stiles said. "Something big to hide a body in."

"What do you see?" Allison asked. He honed in on sight.

"Tracks." There were slight skid marks from a fast getaway. Particulates in between the treads of the tires. "Mud. Metal particulates." He shook his head. "They must have been coming down from the mountain—there were chains on their wheels. The wheels were for rugged terrain, so they could offroad." He tried to see further, to see if he could see anything in particular about the dirt, but he winced as this gave him a headache. Allison noticed.

"Dial it down," Allison said, "back down to zero."

Stiles dialed back his vision and sense of smell.

Derek was writing everything down.

Fatigued by using his powers, Stiles slumped over. His dad caught him.

"She must have bled a lot, so we'll check trucks and SUVs for trace," Derek said. "We'll need to talk to the victim when she's out of surgery but there's nothing we can do now but wait."

"I could see if I can get anything off her now," Stiles said. "It's imperative that we get these guys."

Derek shook his head. "She's critical. I don't think they'd allow you in surgery. Besides, we have a missing Guide out there."

"Yeah," Stiles said.

"I'll get some bodies looking for any trucks or SUVs," Derek said.

"There must be hundreds," Stiles said, "this  _ is _ mountain country."

"Then we'll check hundreds," Derek said.

Stiles realized how this must feel to Derek, to be a rogue Guide and be looking for other rogue Guides. He realized how his own assessment of their situation had been short sighted and ignorant.

"Oh," he said. "All right."

Derek nodded. "Good. Now get some rest."


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry;;;;;

Stiles did not, in fact, get any rest. While Derek and his father went to spearhead the search for the trucks, Stiles snuck back to the hospital to see the woman who'd had her Guide stolen. As Derek thought, the hospital staff didn't let him into the operating room. They did, however, give him her clothes.

The clothes smelled like ashes and flame and gasoline. He caught the faint traces of something sweeter, the smell of a person, but he didn't want to use his powers without Derek around. He pulled off the latex gloves he was wearing to handle the clothing and put them in the trash. Allison came up behind him.

"You aren't using your powers are you?" She asked semi-accusingly.

"You would know if I was," Stiles said wanly.

She bit her lip. "Are you sure it's him?" She asked.

"Who else could it be?" Stiles asked. "If it wasn't him, then it was Laura and, well, Laura…" Laura was still in containment, and after so many years of them trying to see if they were compatible, it was pretty much a sure thing that they weren't.

"I'm sorry, Stiles."

Stiles gave her a thin smile. "Well, I'm no worse off than I was before. Maybe someone who'll come along will be at least a little compatible with me and I can forget about him."

Not that he wanted to forget about Derek. In fact, all he could remember were those gold-tinged days of lounging in the sun beside Derek, reading some of his favorite books. Even, no, especially after he was taken to the Center, he held by those memories.

"Do you think there's any other way?"

"Than to be with my destined Guide? Yeah, sure."

"You could always convince him," Allison said, rubbing a hand on Stiles' shoulder.

"Convince him," Stiles said bleakly. "The man's been on the run from the Center for a decade. I think if he was all right with the Center waltzing in to take over his life, he'd have turned himself in by now."

"Maybe he just never thought of how it affected his Sentinel. How it affected you."

"Maybe it just doesn't matter that much to him," Stiles said, wanting to cry.

"No, Stiles," Allison said. "Just… talk to him."

"I'll try."

Stiles' phone rang. He picked it up. "Stilinski speaking," he said.

" _We found it."_ It was Derek.

"So why don't you sound happier?" Stiles asked.

" _They set it on fire. No plates. About a mile from the hospital._ "

"And I bet no registration either. The car is probably stolen, too."

" _Yeah. Looks like we don't need to put out that BOLO."_

"I hate smart villains."

" _So do I._ " Stiles could hear the hesitation in his voice when he spoke next. " _Do you think you could come down here and do your thing?"_

Derek, voluntarily asking Stiles to use his powers. That was a step in the right direction.

Stiles licked his lips. "Would you… would you help me?" He asked obliquely.

" _Of course_ ," Derek said, " _I'll text you the location."_ And then he hung up.

Stiles' heart beat faster. Derek had agreed to help! What did that mean? Did he actually know what Stiles had meant by helping?

"I think I'm going to throw up," he said to Allison.

"What's wrong?" She said, alarmed.

"No, I'm happy," Stiles said.

"Oh." But the concerned expression didn't leave her face.

—

Derek's heart thumped against his ribs. What had he just agreed to, he wondered. It was hard enough to acknowledge that he had the powers in the first place, but to actively agree to help someone with those powers… and what the hell did he think he was even doing, trying to help an experienced Sentinel like Stiles when he'd never even had any training? What if he did damage to Stiles instead?

With those thoughts running around his head, he texted them the location.

"Are they coming?" Stiles' father asked.

"Yeah," he said. "I have to talk to you, Sir."

The Sheriff raised an eyebrow. "About what?"

Derek looked around to make sure no one was listening. It was an active crime scene, so everyone else was busy. "Can we take a walk?" He asked, nonetheless. It wouldn't do to be careless.

"Sure," the Sheriff said.

—

Laura licked her lips. "Why were you out here, yourself?" Laura asked.

"I'm a hunter," Kate said. Her nails were painted red. She tapped them on the steering wheel.

"Deer?" Laura asked. Laura didn't know much about hunting.

"Something like that," Kate chuckled.

Laura looked toward the back of the truck. The glint of metal caught her eye.

"Why you headed to Beacon Hills?" Kate asked.

"I have family there," Laura answered. She turned in her seat to get a better look at what was glinting in the back seat.

"What a coincidence," Kate said, "me too."

Handcuffs. Laura's body went a little colder.


	18. Chapter 18

They were going faster. Faster than the speed limit, for sure, but inching above that by the second, too.

Laura's heart beat hard in her chest. "What's the all-fire hurry?" She asked.

"Hmm?" Kate said.

"You're speeding."

"Oh, sorry, does it bother you? I have a bit of a lead foot." No one else was on the road.

"Are you a Guide?" Laura asked, unable to keep silent anymore. She couldn't tell, though she could smell the Cortenine on her.

"How did you know?" Kate asked.

"Your nailbeds are blue-tinged," Laura lied about what had tipped her off.

"Ah. Not many would notice that." She glanced over at Laura. "Are you some kind of Guide-hunter?"

"Mmm," Laura said, "Not my purview."

"It's mine," Kate said, a feral grin on her face. "You've got good instincts. Care to join me?"

"In hunting Guides?" Laura felt a cold shiver go down her spine. She vaguely understood that Kate would not take no for an answer. "Sure."

"Good," Kate said. The car revved higher as it sped down the highway.

—

They were some ways away from the crime scene when Derek finally gathered the courage to say it.

The floodlights that were at the crime scene illuminated the cloudy sky. He searched the Sheriff's face and he gathered his courage.

"I'm a Guide."

The first person he'd admitted it to, other than Stiles, who was potentially  _ his _ Sentinel. Second time this night.

The Sheriff frowned. "And you've just, what, been dodging the Center since you found out?"

Derek nodded.

"Then the Argents' case against the Hales—"

"Wasn't entirely baseless," Derek said. "Guides run in the family."

The Sheriff whistled. "Well, now, why are you telling me?"

"Because Stiles might be my Sentinel."

"And if you end up bonded, then you'll either end up property of the Center or…"

"Or Stiles and I will end up on the run for the rest of our lives."

The Sheriff sucked in a breath through his teeth.

"And either way, you may never see Stiles again."

"So, what are you expecting me to do about it?"

"Nothing," Derek said, "But I'm not sure that even if he's my Sentinel that I'll bond with him." Bonding, and all that it entailed, was a strange subject to talk about with his probable-Sentinel's dad.

"Because you don't like the Center."

"The Center destroys lives. You know that." The Sheriff knew probably more than anyone other than the Hales. "We've been trying to free Laura." The words caught in Derek's throat. "Ever since she was taken." It was the one thing the judge hadn't ruled in their favor about.

"Do you blame Stiles for what happened to Laura?" Sheriff Stilinski asked. His eyes searched Derek's face in the half-light from the distant crime scene. Derek wondered what he found there.

"No." Derek ran a hand through his hair. "How could I? He was just a child."

"But he's no longer a child."

"No, he is not."

Laura was the one thing he and Stiles hadn't gotten a chance to discuss. There was something Stiles was hiding from him about her, Derek thought. He couldn't quite pin it down but somehow it felt like Stiles was avoiding the subject. "I don't blame him," Derek said, "I don't." It felt good to say aloud. "But we have a lot to talk about."

"Derek," Sheriff Stilinski said, "you're a good man. I just hope…"

"Hope?" Derek prompted after the Sheriff fell silent for a moment.

"It's nothing," Sheriff Stilinski said, finally. "I wish I'd been around to see Stiles grow up, is all."

It felt odd to hear something so vulnerable come from the Sheriff's mouth.

"We should get back to the crime scene," the Sheriff said.

"All right," Derek said. When the Sheriff didn't move to follow him, Derek turned. To his surprise, the Sheriff put a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm glad you grew up to be a good man," he said. And then he turned to trek up the small incline that they'd travelled down to get to this part of the wood.

—

When Stiles arrived at the crime scene he wrinkled his nose at the smell.

"Do you need a mask?" Allison asked. The filtration masks, which were approved for Sentinel use, would deaden his sense of smell until he could get back into an environment without external stimulation, a dead room.

"I need to," Stiles took a deep breath, "I need to get used to it." He felt a powerful headache coming on to his temples.

A hand came to his temple and everything washed away. No more headache. The smell was awful still but it was managable. Coolness washed over his entire body like diving into a cool pool of water on a hot day.

"Better?" It was Derek's delicate voice, not Allison's, that came from where the hand had connected to his temple. Stiles' eyes snapped open and widened.

"Should you do that so openly?" Allison murmured, glancing toward Stiles' father, who had tailed Derek. She looked around but none of the other people around the crime scene were paying attention to them.

"They're all busy," Derek said.

And under that was a compulsion not to look at Derek. Allison felt it. "You're whammying the normals," she accused.

"Just a suggestion," Derek said, "but it's important that they not notice."

It went against everything Allison had learned at the Center.

"And you're all right with this?" She snapped at Stiles' father.

Who shrugged. "The man has a right to his privacy," he said. "You're not about to tell the Center about him, are you?"

An uncomfortable feeling wormed its way up Allison's back. "No," she said, finally. "I'm not, but that's not exactly ethical."

"I'll stop," Derek said, "but it'll be risky."

Allison gritted her teeth. "No. It's fine."

Derek drew in a deep breath and let it out. "Thank you," he said, with all apparent sincerity.

"Let's just get this over with," Allison said.

"Walk me through it?" Derek asked.

It was Allison's turn to take a deep breath. "Fine," she said. "Skin to skin contact is best."

Derek grabbed Stiles' wrist loosely, and helped Stiles out of the Silverado. Allison hopped out on her own. They walked toward the crime scene like that, the crowds of people moving around them unconsciously like there was a bubble around them.

"Tell him to dial down his hearing, taste, vision, and touch and concentrate on smell," Allison said once they were past the yellow tape.

"Dial down your hearing—"

"Slowly," Allison said. "From twelve down to zero."

"Twelve, eleven, ten," Derek counted down to one, figuring he ought to leave Stiles with his ability to hear him. Allison nodded approbation.

"Now taste…"

They went through each sense.

"What can you smell?" Derek asked.

"Smoke," Stiles said.

"What kind? Was there an accelerant?"

"Gasoline."

Stiles' dad nodded and began writing down Stiles' words.

"Was there anything of note in the car when it burned?" Derek asked.

"There was something fibrous in the back of the truck," Stiles said, "Large. Maybe a tarp."

"Can you smell how many people were here?"

"No," Stiles said. "Too many people here now."

Allison frowned. And then she used one finger to point up, silently signaling to Derek.

"Ok, let's go deeper. Dial your sense of smell up to eight, and hearing up to five," Derek said. Allison nodded. "Is there anything out of place here?" Derek asked. "Eliminate each of the people at the crime scene by following each person with your hearing."

Stiles nodded distantly.

"Is there any smell that isn't from the people that are here?"

"A smell like at the hospital," Stiiles said, his voice hazy.

"Like disinfectant?"

Stiles frowned. "No," he said. "Like Cortenine."


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long.

"Like Cortenine?" The Sheriff asked.

"Would that have been the Guide?" Derek asked. "Dial your senses back to one." He talked Stiles through his senses, ruminating on the Sheriff's question. He let his hand drop from the small of Stiles' back.

"No, the Sentinel's Guide wasn't on Cortenine," Stiles answered once he was done adjusting his senses.

"How do you know that?" Derek snapped. He was more concerned than anything, but he could feel his patience wearing thin.

Stiles felt guilty. Derek wanted to assuage that feeling but he knew better than to tempt fate. "I sort of… took a gander at the Sentinel's clothes." Stiles shrugged at Derek's furious look. "If I hadn't we wouldn't have known."

"Known what?" Sheriff Stilinski asked.

"Known that the Cortenine was coming from someone other than the Guide we knew about," Stiles said.

"Which means that there was a Guide involved in taking the rogues in the first place," Derek said. His entire body felt cold.

A Guide helping to hunt Guides? What were the odds.

"But we know of exactly one Guide who hunted Guides already, don't we? One Guide who is on Cortenine," Stiles said.

"What do you mean?" Derek asked.

Stiles looked at Allison.

"Don't talk around the issue for my sake," she said, frowning.

"Gerard Argent is a Guide," Stiles said.

"What?" Derek felt his stomach drop. His breath seemed to freeze in his lungs. "What are you talking about?"

Stiles didn't look away from Allison, whose eyes had gone wide. With fear? Or something else?

"I didn't know," Allison said. She was telling the truth. Derek could tell from the nausea that rolled off her in waves. "It goes against everything Guides are trained for. If he's on Cortenine, I might never have known."

"You need to go to the Center," Derek said. "Get more information on the Guides that were killed. See if there were any other bonded Guides. See how many Guides were killed in action."

"What?" Stiles asked. " _ You _ want us to go to the Center."

"I'm not going with you," Derek explained.

Stiles didn't ask why not. The answer was obvious. But Derek could feel his doubt. "Do you really think that's… safe?"

"Of course not," Derek said crossly. "But you need to find out everything you can on Gerard Argent. Find what the Center knows."

"Why, though?"

"It's possible that he's been kidnapping and killing rogue Guides."

"No, it's not," Allison said. She scowled. "I don't know how you think hunting works, but we don't kill Guides."

Derek bared his teeth. "No, instead, you give them to the Center and let them rot there until they can be bonded forcibly to some Sentinel who doesn't give two shits about their well-being."

"That's not how Sentinels are," Stiles said. He was hurt. Derek didn't have to be a Guide to tell that. No, it just made it doubly worse—he could feel the sting of his words in the pit of his own stomach, a sympathetic reaction to how Stiles was feeling.

But Derek had no time to coddle the feelings of people who were practically brainwashed. No matter his feelings on them. He could practically feel Stiles tucking away the hurt.

"Regardless, Gerard Argent is a suspect for the time being," Derek said, falling back on what he was used to: normal police work.

"I still don't understand where you're getting this," Allison said, "how does Stiles even know my grandfather is a Guide?"

"He smelled like Cortenine," Stiles said. Something niggled in the back of his brain as he said that.

The blood drained from his face.

"What?" Derek asked, "What's wrong?"

"Gerard knows you're back in town," Stiles said. "What if he—"

"I'm more concerned about the safety of the Guides he's attacked. We still don't know how he knew they were Guides. If he's on Cortenine then he wouldn't have been able to sense their powers."

"Stop saying he attacked them," Allison said crossly. "You don't have any evidence that he has."

"You forget," Derek said, "we have a witness."

This time Allison's face was the one that paled. "Which means she could be in danger. Whoever attacked her," she said, shooting a glance toward Derek, "she needs protection. The protection of a Guide, who can't be manipulated by Guide powers."

"But would he be able to use his powers even though he's on Cortenine?" Stiles said.

Allison bit her lip. She knew something. But, Derek realized, he would do himself no favors pressing her. He'd find out later. One way or another.

"I'll go to the hospital with your father," Derek said, "go to the Center. If there's anyone you can trust there, bring them with you on your way back. We'll need all the help we can get."

—

Laura felt Kate's hand brush against hers, and fought against the reflexive clenching of her fists that would indicate how on edge she was.

"How many Guides have you hunted?" She asked Kate casually. Her voice sounded too loud in her own ears. Was that just her nerves or was she really talking so loud? Her tongue rasped against the roof of her mouth. Every breath she drew in seemed louder and louder. No. It wasn't her nerves. She looked toward the other side of the road, and saw the pattern of the road whizzing by. Could see each millimeter that the lines were off from their supposedly equal length and she knew. She was zoning.

She felt a pinch in her thigh. For an instant that felt like a lifetime she could only feel that pain. It took over her whole being, and the moon flared like the sun.

And then it stopped.

She looked down.

A needle stuck out of the meat of her leg. Kate's hand drew away from it.

Her eyelids felt heavy, and her vision blurred—this time not from the light of the moon, which had faded to a normal level, but from whatever drug had been administered to her.

A chemical smell came from the drops of liquid still left inside. Ketamine.

And Cortenine.

"Enough."


	20. Chapter 20

"I have something to tell you," Allison said when they got into the Silverado.

"Do… Do you not like him?" Stiles asked.

"I'm not your Guide anymore," Allison said quietly. "You don't have to take me into account when asking whether you like someone or not. And obviously you do." She sounded almost bitter. Times like these, Stiles would have given up his Sentinel powers to become a Guide just to figure out what she was feeling and why.

"You're still my friend," Stiles said.

"I know that," Allison said, her voice softening. "It's just. What he was doing wasn't exactly ethical."

"I'm not sure it was entirely conscious," Stiles said. "I couldn't tell he was a Guide when I met him. Neither could you. It might be something he just… does subconsciously."

"Well, he didn't stop when I pointed it out."

"It's saved him from the Center for most of his life," Stiles said.

"He lived in a sanctuary city," she said.

"But you, especially, should know that doesn't stop Guide hunters from capturing from those cities." All the laws in the world couldn't stop Guide hunters from capturing Guides. It was highly discouraged, to be sure, but the law was not in the favor of the Guides, slowly restricting their rights even in sanctuary cities. By now, sanctuary cities were in name mostly, though people who were ordinarily mandatory reporters weren't required to report in sanctuary cities. Which didn't mean they didn't at all. There were some that thought sanctuary cities were unethical, protecting Guides when surely Sentinels were more important.

Some of the most important law-makers in the United States were Sentinels, many of them having bonded later in life, they were in favor of more strict laws.

And Guides were barred from Congress, on account of them being too emotionally unstable to work in the law. Never mind that they were sent to war zones all the time with their Sentinels. To everyone in the world, except for their Sentinels, Guides' well being was at most an afterthought.

Somehow, it seemed like every Sentinel in the world was so self-absorbed that they couldn't see how miserable the laws were making Guides. And even the Guides that Stiles had met seemed to agree with the laws, saying that the laws were what kept Guides safe!

Which was why Stiles was helping the Underground expand to get Guides to other countries without extradition laws.

"But what I was going to say has nothing to do with that," Allison said. She let out a deep breath. "Don't freak out."

"What is it?" Stiles asked, feeling nervous.

She looked in the rearview mirror, as though looking for the Center. For comfort? Or because it was possible someone was listening for them. "I know about the Guide-smuggling," she whispered.

" _What_."

"I said, 'Don't freak out'!" She said, catching his hand. A wave of calm washed over him. But the second she took her hand away, he was panicking again. He wished Derek were here. "I found out right after you started," she said, "I didn't know what to tell you, so I just kept quiet." she took a deep breath. "I didn't tell anyone."

So he could still trust her.

He was shaking. She put her hand on his shoulder. Sent another wave of calm his way. He felt the coil of fear that wound tight around his spine relax.

"There's something else, too," she said. "My family's come up with a new hybrid Cortenine: it has a shorter half-life."

"So it doesn't last as long— so what?"

"It acts instantly and only lasts for a few minutes. The side effects last longer than the medication. Which means my grandfather might not have been on Cortenine, even he smelled like it."

Stiles frowned.

"Stiles, he would have sensed that Derek is a Guide."

—

When she woke, Laura felt better. Not withdrawing from the lack of Cortenine. Not in danger of zoning. Yet.

Of course, then there was the knife that was against her throat.

"Laura Hale," Kate said. "I bet you thought you escaped, didn't you?"

Laura said nothing. She glanced around. They were in a warehouse. Well maintained, boxes everywhere. It smelled like dust. There was another heartbeat coming from another room, this one thready and rapid.

"I can tell you're awake," Kate said. "You'll find you can't use your powers."

This time, Laura resisted rolling her eyes. It was all so trite.

"So, Guide hunting," Laura said. "Why?" Laura heard the electricity and dropped her sense of feeling to zero. When the taser hit the back of her neck, she could smell her skin burning. She let her body's automatic reaction take, and closed her eyes.

"I'm not your average villain, honey," Kate said. "I'm not about to monologue."

—

Sheriff Stilinski stopped in the waiting room outside of surgery to ask which room the Sentinel was in.

"One of your deputies just asked me the same thing," the nurse said. "Room 205."

"Deputies?" Stilinski asked. Derek had gone ahead of him while Stilinski had stopped to make the phone call to the Center, but Derek was in plain clothes.

"Yeah. Older gentleman, balding, but fit." At his worried look, she said, "he had a gun and everything."

Sheriff Stilinski took off at a run.


End file.
